


break my cage and spread my wings

by TheMadKatter13



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caledon Hockley Gabriel (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dancing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Gentle Kissing, Happy Ending, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Human Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Insecure Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jack Dawson Crowley (Good Omens), Kissing, Light Angst, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Naked Aziraphale (Good Omens), Naked Female Clothed Female, Neck Kissing, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rose Dewitt Bukater Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ruth Dewitt Bukater Michael (Good Omens), Smooth Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing, Temporary Break Up, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Touching, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), hand holding, more tags to come (probably), tags only look scary because of all the '(Good Omens)' additives (set by AO3 not me)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13
Summary: Everyone called the Titanic the 'Ship of Dreams', but for Aziraphale, it was the ship of nightmares, carrying her away from her home in England, and her dreams of freedom, and towards the bleak future of her arranged marriage in America. The only spark of light in the darkness is her new and tentative friendship with the boldly intimate Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 162
Kudos: 228





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> *radio announcer voice* Gooooood morning, Femslash February! We're kickin' off the month here with my first proper attempt at femslash and we're bringing you updates every week on the week! This fic is brought to you by a comforting conversation with a good friend, Cascada's [Everytime We Touch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4G6QDNC4jPs), and the lyrics: 
>   * " _When you touch me, I die, just a little inside // I wonder if this could be love, this could be love_ " from Lady Gaga's [Venus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nP3ctBs3510), and 
>   * " _And it burns like a gin and I like it // Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it_ " from Billie Eilish's [my strange addiction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k1ATPhkVWi0).
> 


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you thinking about jumping?"

**1912 April 12, Friday - Day 3 (Part One)**

The railing around the edges of the stern was freezing, even through Aziraphale's fur-lined gloves, but she couldn't convince her fingers to release the metal. Overhead, the night sky over the Atlantic was a deep black, studded with more stars than she thought she could count in her lifetime. Below her, below the Titanic, the ocean was just as dark as the sky, but instead of stars, there was only the froth of stirred waves in the wake of the steamship. When she stared at the horizon where sky and water met… it felt like she was looking into the heart of the universe.

"Are you thinking about jumping?"

The voice made Aziraphale jump and she whirled, her hand pressed to her racing heart. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize anyone else was out here," she apologized reflexively and then paused, confused.

The voice had been a soft, husky feminine, but the person leaning on the railing just a few feet away was most certainly dressed as a man. A man's button up shirt, a man's trousers, and a man's suspenders, all so dark that they practically blended into the night. Only, the shirt was very improperly unbuttoned down to the waist, revealing a strip of skin so pale that it seemed to glow in the meager outdoors lights, and the subtle swell of breast just inside the gap. As if to starkly contrast the masculinity of the clothes, the stranger's flame-red hair was cut decidedly bohemian, feminine, hanging down to their chin in gentle waves. But above all that, the one thing that really struck Aziraphale as unforgivably odd was the stranger's complete lack of coat.

"You must be freezing!" she gasped, hurriedly trying to make her fingers work to unbutton her own long coat.

The stranger laughed, lovely and soft, and waved a hand. "I run really warm, don't worry about it. You stay bundled up."

"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asked skeptically, staring them down for any hint that they were lying.

"Positive," they replied with a sharp grin.

"If you insist..."

The stranger stared at her a moment longer, and Aziraphale stared back, unsure. While she couldn't seem to pinpoint the stranger's gender, it was a great deal easier to identify the accent and the rough clothes that belonged to a class Aziraphale had never been allowed to speak to. First it had been her mother, and then later Gabriel, who had decreed that it was beneath them (beneath _her_ ) to speak to anyone who worked with their hands for a living, who got dirty and lived poor. And Aziraphale, despite her desire for conversation, knew she lived in a gilded cage, with not much more than her books to keep her company - books that the people she was allowed to speak with hadn't read either, and she had no idea how to even start a conversation.

"So, you were about to jump?" the stranger asked, almost expectantly, and Aziraphale was relieved she didn't have to be the one to start. Relieved, but-

"Jump?" Aziraphale echoed, confused. The stranger nodded out towards the water, and Aziraphale followed their gaze for a moment before she realized what they had meant. "Oh! No! Heavens no!" she denied with a frantic wave of her hands. "Even if I survived the fall, the water is cold enough to kill me in an hour. Not a particularly comfortable way to die."

She looked back over the stern into the dark. "No, I was thinking about…" She paused, unsure if she should confess, and then realized there was no one better to confess to than to one who neither her mother nor Gabriel would ever speak to. "I was thinking about flying."

She'd dreamed of it ever since she'd been a child, of sprouting a pair of bird's wings large enough to lift her into the sky and into freedom. She'd daydreamed about it every time she'd been forbidden from leaving the house, whenever her mother had been unable to spare a servant to escort Aziraphale in an aimless walk about the city. Then, when she'd been promised to Gabriel, she'd dreamed of it every time he hadn't had the time to escort her. Even now aboard the Titanic, though she was freer than ever to enjoy the open air, she'd never felt so trapped, each step watched by crewmen more than willing to return her to Gabriel or her mother if she was suspected of any impropriety.

No, the illusion of freedom had never been so great, and Aziraphale had never wished for wings so hard. She would even gladly become Icarus if she had to.

"Have you ever flown?" the stranger asked curiously, settling in against the railing, hands in their pockets and hips canting out in a way that Aziraphale couldn't seem to pull her eyes from. They were everything Aziraphale wasn't, tall where she was short, whip-thin and corded where Aziraphale was thick and soft. She couldn't decide if she was envious or… something else.

"I had the pleasure of taking a ride in a dirigible several years ago," Aziraphale admitted. "It was…" Even then, she hadn't been able to put the experience into words, standing amongst the clouds, above the birds. It had been the view she'd always wanted, the one she'd never dared hope for, the one her imagination had failed to ever properly create. "Ineffable."

The stranger smiled at her, expression amused. "Ineffable?"

Aziraphale coloured, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, it means-"

"Oh, I know what it means, gorgeous."

She frowned. "It doesn't mean-" Her companion's eyebrow rose with an amused quirk to their lips, and Aziraphale felt her face get even hotter. "Oh."

The stranger's grin was sharp and wicked, and there was something about it that sent the heat from Aziraphale's face through her entire body.

"Name's Crowley, by the way," they introduced, holding out their hand, and continuing to be absolutely unhelpful about any sort of gender identification. Miss Crowley? Mister Crowley? Finishing school had utterly failed to provide the protocol for addressing someone with no determinate gender, but then again, this was the first time Aziraphale had encountered someone who was not clearly a man, but was not clearly a woman.

"Lovely to meet you," Aziraphale returned, grasping the proffered hand. To her surprise, Crowley didn't shake it, but lifted it to their lips and pressed a kiss to the back of Aziraphale's glove. Hadn't it just been freezing outside a few minutes ago? Why was she suddenly so warm? "I'm-"

"Aziraphale!"

The heat under her clothes evaporated in a split second, replaced just as quickly with a cold wash of despair. Her mind was suddenly empty of everything except a single, echoing thought: _'How did they find me?'_

Like a knock to the head, the rapping of boots crossing the wooden deck sparked Aziraphale into action, and she stepped hurriedly back, her hand ripping from Crowley's fingers and their lips. The nearing steps drew her eyes, like the threat of a nightmare, and dread turned her head towards the sound. She almost would have preferred a nightmare to the sight of her mother strolling towards her arm-in-arm with Gabriel, Gabriel's valet lingering behind them. Every part of her screamed that she should run, but her feet were frozen. But even if they weren't, where could she go? There was only her gilded cage - Titanic, and the icy waters it sat in. She had no wings with which to fly away. She had no freedom at all. She was trapped.

"Aziraphale, you shouldn't wander the deck alone at night," Gabriel admonished as he stepped up to her side, wrapping a proprietary arm around her waist. His clothes still smelled of cigar smoke, and his breath of brandy; he was warm from sitting inside, but the way his hand squeezed her ribs only numbed her. As did the cheerfulness to his voice, but that cheer was, at best, a facade to hide the cruelty that lay underneath. "Anything could happen in the dark."

It felt less like a warning and more like a threat.

Sandalphon stepped up beside Gabriel and the smug, spiteful expression on his face turned the beat of Aziraphale's heart into tar, slow and sluggish and sickly-heavy. She knew at once that he'd followed her when she left the dining room, that he had spied on her while she'd been talking to Crowley. It would have been him who had returned to the dining room to inform Gabriel, and her mother, that she was embarrassing her good name by speaking to someone she shouldn't be. His grin turned nasty, and Aziraphale had to look away.

Her mother stepped up to Aziraphale's other side, and Aziraphale could feel the bars of her cage closing back in around her. Somehow, despite the height Crowley had on her mother, more than a head in fact, Michael still managed to look down her nose at Crowley. Aziraphale swallowed, feeling her shoulders rising up to her ears as the floor drew her gaze, as her heart crept into her throat.

"I was quite alright, dear," Aziraphale softly tried to placate her fiancé, and her mother by proxy. And as much as she didn't want to get into trouble, she knew the kind of trouble Gabriel, with all his wealth and prestige, could cause for someone of their own class, much less someone in steerage. Her mind raced for the optimum excuse, but for once, the truth seemed to be, hopefully, sufficient. "I was just stargazing and-" she paused, gesturing at Crowley, still unsure how to address them.

"AJ," Crowley said.

"Yes, AJ- AJ?" she startled, confused once again. She didn't particularly like being confused, but it had been a constant companion her entire life. Why should tonight be any different?

"Yeah," Crowley said, staring down Gabriel even as they held out their hand. "You can call me AJ."

Aziraphale couldn't help but notice the difference in the introduction she had gotten and the one Gabriel was getting. When Crowley had introduced themself, they had clearly said that Crowley _was_ their name, but they had only told Gabriel to _call_ them AJ. And then there was Crowley's expression, suddenly cold and somehow angry, all the warmth they'd used to speak to Aziraphale gone. It was distinctly uncomfortable, and it made Aziraphale fight not to fidget in her discomfort.

Gabriel looked down at Crowley's hand with a look of distaste, and very pointedly did not take it. Crowley let their hand drop, looking unsurprised by the rude dismissal. Embarrassed for the way Crowley was being treated and suddenly aching for the quiet solitude of her bedroom, caged but... alone, Aziraphale swallowed and pushed on.

"I was stargazing and AJ here kindly came over to ensure that I was alright. I was just relaying a story of the time mother and I rode in that dirigible when you arrived." She carefully, and slowly, linked her arm with her mother's, wary of being rebuked - her mother never had been a fan of public displays of affection from or for Aziraphale, neither physical nor verbal.

"She does so love to chatter on, doesn't she," Gabriel said amicably to Crowley, and Aziraphale flushed, dropping her eyes. She didn't want to see the expression on Crowley's face when they inevitably agreed with her fiancé.

"I thought she was a rather good conversationalist."

Aziraphale had to fight not to look up - Crowley's assessment seemed to beggar so much disbelief as to be an outright lie. She knew she wasn't a good conversationalist, she never had been. As had been made quite evident over the years as she consistently failed to keep even one friend, even one conversation partner.

Clearly Gabriel agreed because he seemed to be struck silent. Aziraphale's mother, on the other hand, wielded her tongue like a weapon.

"Aziraphale learned many things at finishing school, but being a good conversationalist was not one of them."

The cold numbness of feeling trapped was replaced with a hot wash at shame, and worse, Aziraphale could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She very carefully did not look up as she tried to blink them away.

"She must have already been quite good then."

Crowley's unexpected attempts at defending her were very kind, but it only made Aziraphale's shame burn brighter at the outright and too-obvious lie.

"I do apologize," Aziraphale finally spoke up, unable to lift her eyes - she didn't have the strength to look at Crowley again, "but it has been quite a long day and I'm afraid to say I'm ready to retire for the evening. Gabriel, would you care to escort me back to our rooms?"

There was just enough of a delay in Gabriel's answer for Aziraphale to begin thinking she was to be denied her request, and then the hand at her waist tightened. "Yes, of course. Michael?" 

Aziraphale's mother pulled her arm free of Aziraphale's hand and stepped away. "Quite right. It's rather late," she said, walking away without anything as polite as a farewell. Her heels on the wood deck as she strode away were as harsh and piercing as war drums, and the tug at Aziraphale's waist from Gabriel's hand made Aziraphale feel like she was suffocating.

"It was lovely to meet you," she said again, her voice almost lost under the sound of the waves as Gabriel walked her away.

"No," she heard Crowley say behind her, and her heart clenched tight in her chest. "The pleasure was all mine."


	2. A Gift: An Illusion of Property for the Property

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But perhaps tonight you would accept this gift as a reminder of my feelings for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDED TAGS: Happy Ending (because a friend pointed out that that's not a given with this AU)

**1912 April 12, Friday - Day 3 (Part Two)**

The evening's festivities had been no different than any other party Aziraphale had attended, but she felt exhausted. Perhaps the stress of moving away from her home, and the constant required socialization and parties aboard the Titanic were finally getting to her. Perhaps it was the high of speaking to someone who actually seemed interested in what she had to say, followed by the crash of forced confinement of those who kept her caged. Whatever it was, Aziraphale had never felt more ready to collapse into her bed, but she dragged herself to her vanity to pull the pins from her hair and brush out the wind-blown tangled curls.

She'd never been able to pinpoint exactly why, but the act of combing her hair had always seemed to calm and relax Aziraphale. Sometimes, it was better when her maid did it, and sometimes it was worse. It all depended on much solitude her soul was in need of. And right now, her soul was in need of a great deal, and she was glad she was alone. With each stroke of her hair brush, she could feel her stress slowly wash away. It was there but… buried, like a sunken ship.

The authoritative rap against her door undid all her hairbrush's work in seconds, making her tense as her door was pushed open without waiting for her approval. She was unsurprised to find Gabriel stepping through, already in his own pajamas, and though her own sleeping gown was appropriately proper, she felt… exposed. Practically naked without the sturdy weight and structure of her wool vest and jacket, her hands feeling vulnerable in the absence of gloves.

Aziraphale set her hairbrush into her lap but couldn't bear to let it go, her fingers tightening around the handle so rigidly that it hurt. It made her feel better, somehow, to hold the wood in her hand, as if she were preparing to wield a weapon. A weapon she knew she never would use, never _could_ use, but it made her feel better all the same.

Gabriel pushed her music box closed and sat on the end of her vanity, almost too close for comfort, his knee almost touching her shoulder. Aziraphale glanced at him, no longer than she needed to to take in his expression, and then her eyes dropped to his chest. He didn't appear to be in a poor mood, but sometimes it was difficult to tell. It was a struggle not to flinch when he moved suddenly, but he only brought a large, flat box, like a necklace box, from his side into his lap.

"I wanted to wait until the engagement gala next week to present this to you," he said, leaning almost too close for comfort, even though he was still barely close enough to touch. "But perhaps tonight you would accept this gift as a reminder of my feelings for you." He said it like there had been some sort of competition, like there was someone else who wanted to marry her, and the idea was almost laughable - there was a reason her mother couldn't arrange a marriage with someone in England. But then Gabriel the box and all the contained laughter in Aziraphale's chest dried up as her heart stopped.

A necklace lay on a bed of black velvet, a gold chain from which hung a large triangular pendant as long as Aziraphale's thumb at the point. Its base was gold, and lined with tiny teardrop white diamonds, but it was the massive red gemstone at the center of it all that caught Aziraphale's attention. She might not have owned much jewellery, or even been particularly enamoured by it, but she was not blind to its worth. Especially a gemstone of that size - it would have cost a fortune.

It was hideous.

"Is that-"

"A diamond? Yes. Fifty-six carats," Gabriel said proudly, scooping the necklace almost carelessly from its bed, as if he weren't handling the world's rarest diamond. Was that how Aziraphale was to be treated? No, that was ridiculous. That was how she was already treated.

His arms circled her like a noose, draping the pendant under the line of her collarbone and clasping it closed at the back of her neck. The tips of his fingers brushed her skin and made her flesh crawl, as did the way it felt like he was enclosing her in a collar. The necklace settled against her skin, the point of the pendant resting perfectly between the swell of her breasts, and the weight of it pushed down against her chest. Aziraphale felt like she'd just been collared and leashed. She felt like she was suffocating.

"It was worn by Marie Antoinette, and they called it ' _La Pomme d'Eden_ '," Gabriel said, his reflection in her mirror rising and standing tall above her, staring down at her.

"The Apple of Eden," Aziraphale murmured, daring, just for a moment, to reach up and touch the edges of the necklace. But she could only dare to touch the gold, the tiny diamonds. She couldn't bring herself to touch the red diamond. It would have somehow made it even more real that the necklace she now wore was worth more than her life ever would be.

Gabriel lingered behind her for a long moment before crouching at her side. Even without looking at him, Aziraphale knew he was waiting for her attention, and she held out as long as she could, hoping he would speak, but finally she broke and glanced down at him. Somehow, even with his head below hers, it still felt as if he were looming over her.

"There's nothing that I wouldn't provide for you, Aziraphale," he said matter-of-factly, ignoring the fact that he'd denied her everything she'd asked for. She'd never even asked for much, just the occasional book, a dessert when they ate out. Instead, he'd done what her mother had done, ordered her the most fashionable of clothes and the most expensive of jewels. Things that always cost far more than what she'd asked for, but made her mother and Gabriel look better because Aziraphale looked like a doll. Aziraphale had never worn any of it by choice.

She'd never dared to ask for genuine affection, much less love. She didn't have to ask to know that she would never receive either.

"Don't deny me and I won't deny you," Gabriel promised, as if the things she wanted from him weren't different from the things he wanted from her. He smiled at her, and it was the same winning smile he gave young women and their mothers, that he gave his business associates. It was a handsome smile that demanded trust, but all Aziraphale could see in it was a scorpion's promise. "Open your heart to me, Aziraphale."

_Open your legs to me, Aziraphale._

Aziraphale turned her gaze back to her mirror, to her reflection, and the hideous necklace hanging about her neck like a leash. She stared at it until all she saw was red, until she fell into the facets of the gem and imagined wings of white.


	3. (Please Don't) Flirt with Me~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I mean no offense. The way you speak to me is… new."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Lupercaliaaa~! So have an early update and some… intimacy~ ;3

**1912 April 13, Saturday - Day 4 (Part One)**

It was well past afternoon tea before Aziraphale was allowed to leave her mother's company. The entire morning and the beginnings of the afternoon had been spent socializing with high society, enduring conversations Aziraphale had no interest in and could not contribute to. The few times she'd thought she might be able to add something, her mother had not given her the chance to speak, changing the topic every time Aziraphale opened her mouth.

Stepping foot on the Titanic's deck was physically and metaphorically a breath of fresh air - the ship was still a cage, but at least it was a cage she could walk around, unchaperoned. The open space was bustling with all the life that had avoided it the previous night, the spring sun shining down on them warm enough to endure the rushing wind. Children raced about, couples walked arm in arm - it was a lovely setting that Aziraphale could scarcely enjoy, but she tried, nonetheless.

With no destination in mind, she wandered, letting her feet carry her mindlessly from the bow towards the stern. And as she'd done all day, any time her thoughts strayed to Crowley, and the utter ruination their encounter had become, she stopped and closed her eyes until her mind emptied of thought, and until the tightness in her chest loosened. At least now that she was out in the open air, she could let the wind blow her thoughts away. Though, quite possibly, it was because of her attempts at avoidance that she was bound to run into the subject of her thoughts themself.

She saw the hair first, the distinctively-coloured waves bent over a notebook as long fingers dragged charcoal over the pages, not several yards down from the corner Aziraphale had just turned. Crowley themself was turned mostly away from Aziraphale, by all appearance watching, and sketching, a pair of mothers conversing as their two sons played together. Crowley hadn't seen her yet, and unless they turned around, they wouldn't. Aziraphale wanted to go to them, but she couldn't find it in herself to feel welcome to, not after the way the two of them had parted last night. No, Crowley would be best off without Aziraphale interrupting them.

Just as surely as she'd shouted for attention though, at that moment, Crowley looked up and over, and their eyes settled undeniably right on Aziraphale, who froze under the attention, and in indecision. Her feet felt useless, unable to turn away or move forward, but the choice was thankfully taken from her when Crowley grinned, wide and pleased, and beckoned her forward.

Aziraphale complied slowly and carefully, wary that she would be turned away at the last second, or find that she'd been played for a fool. When no such rebuke came by the time Aziraphale reached Crowley, she stepped up next to the empty space on the bench Crowley was sprawled on.

"May I join you?" she asked, unsure.

"It's why I offered," Crowley said, their tone warm and teasing. Aziraphale blushed, but for once she felt a part of the joke rather than the subject of it.

She cleared her throat and tucked her skirts as she sat stiffly on the bench, crossing her feet demurely at the ankles, like she'd been taught. Crowley, on the other hand, sprawled out quite indecently, even for a man, if that was what they were. One arm draped over the back of the bench, which only gaped their unbuttoned shirt, which was as black as it had been the night before, wider, though still barely avoiding baring that possibility of unbound breasts. Their trousers were just as dark as their shirt, and while their drawing pad sat closed and balanced on one knee, their legs were spread like a man's and their other knee nearly touched Aziraphale's. Part of her wished that it would, and her sudden need for that contact almost shocked her.

It took several minutes for her to realize that they'd been sitting in complete silence, and she chanced a glance over at Crowley. The sight of Crowley's unwavering gaze stuck on her lit Aziraphale to her core, and her breath stuck in her chest. The sun made Crowley's hair catch fire, and the sight was enough to take her breath away completely. She didn't realize she was staring until Crowley smiled at her.

"What's caught your eye?" Crowley asked, lips curled, but they didn't seem offended.

Still, Aziraphale's face felt hot and she ducked her chin. "I'm sorry. You- you look like a painting. The sun does… lovely things for your hair. If it's not too improper to say," she rushed to placate, just in case. Women tended to enjoy compliments, but men seemed to find offense for any compliment that wasn't paid directly to their ego or their wealth, and with her inability what Crowley was, she didn't want to offend them.

"As it does to yours, angel," Crowley said warmly, and then the hand stretched across the back of the bench reached out, two long fingers capturing one of Aziraphale's curls and tugging so lightly that it didn't hurt, just spread a curious fire all the way down to Aziraphale's toes.

She couldn't, for the life of her, remember what it felt like to pull air into her lungs. Was this what her novels of romance had been talking about? When her mother had announced Aziraphale's engagement to Gabriel, was this the feeling that had been missing? Was this the fire Gabriel's touch had been failing to ignite?

If it wasn't, then she never wanted to find out - those small looks and even smaller touches were already threatening to burn her. She wouldn't be able to survive a stronger blaze.

"W-wh-why did you call me that?" she stuttered out through numb lips. Crowley's smile seemed to get even warmer, and they finally let go of Aziraphale's hair, though the tips of those two fingers brushed the skin of Aziraphale's jaw and made her heart leap out of her chest entirely before they returned to their drape over the back of the bench.

"Have you seen a Renaissance painting?" Crowley asked in return and Aziraphale could only nod.

Of course she had - she'd loved her rare trips to the museum back home, the way the art had made her feel. Somehow though, the thought of revealing that felt even more personal than the confessions she'd made in the dark last night. Or perhaps it was exactly because they were in the stark light of day that made it all the more forbidden.

"You look like one, you know." Eyes traced her face and Aziraphale could feel their path like gentle hands, over her hair, down her body, all the way to her ankles and back up. Crowley moved just a little closer on the bench, reducing the distance between them by less than a handspan, but to Aziraphale, it felt as if Crowley had pressed right up against her. With a thought that stopped her heart, she realized she wanted Crowley to put their hand at her waist, to hold her close like Gabriel so often did. Only… she quite thought that Crowley's touch would be welcome where Gabriel's was not. "The soft way they paint their women, the glow they give them, the ecstasy of hedonism. You look like a painter's muse stepped off the canvas."

"Pygmalion," Aziraphale choked out, surprising herself. Crowley's gaze found her own again and they tilted their head. With a start, Aziraphale realized that they were actually waiting for her to continue. That they wanted to hear what she had to say. It was a new experience but… a warmly welcomed one. "Pygmalion was a sculptor in Greek mythology. He fashioned a statue so beautiful that he fell in love with her, and the gods brought her to life to be his bride."

"The Greeks do have a way with their mythos, don't they." Crowley actually sounded interested, and it left Aziraphale wrong-footed. She wasn't used to having someone to speak to, much less someone that wanted to speak to her. The desperate desire she felt to not mess it up was almost overwhelming. "I wonder, then," Crowley continued to muse out loud, eyes fixed on Aziraphale's, "which artist could you have been brought to life for?"

For a moment, for a brief moment, so brief that it hurt, Aziraphale knew what it felt like to fly. She crashed just as quickly, left trembling in her own skin from her fall, her face as hot as if it had been kissed by the sun himself. She wondered if that was how Icarus had felt, when he'd risen high amongst the waves before falling into them. In the aftermath, Crowley's gaze was too much, too abrasive against her tender heart, and Aziraphale had to turn away, lifting her face to the sun and air until the brightness blinded her and the wind blew away the hot flush on her cheeks.

It felt like hours passed before she had herself under control again, before she'd reeled her heart back in from where it had fallen out of her chest to the floor, before she'd calmed the shaking in her hands. It took so long that she fully expected to be alone by the time she turned back around, and it was almost a shock to see Crowley still sitting there, watching her with a small pinch between their eyebrows.

"Are you alright?" they asked quietly, voice low against the wind and the waves, but it still managed to rumble right through Aziraphale like a train through a station. As nice as it was to be paid attention to for once, it was far too new, too sudden, too unexpected, and she had no defenses against it.

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "You're very intense," she confessed quietly, unable to actually meet Crowley's eyes. She kept her gaze fixed safely on Crowley's shoulder, just high enough that she could still catch the gist of Crowley's expression without being subjected to its strength.

"Am I unwelcome?" Crowley asked slowly.

Aziraphale hadn't even considered it, that Crowley's attention was unwanted in some way. It wasn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. She found herself turning towards it like a flower blooming for the sun, but she'd been kept in the dark so long that the sun's light was too strong, too much. It didn't just breathe life into her, it burned through her.

Movement drew her attention from her thoughts and she realized Crowley was folding up, like they were getting ready to leave, and Aziraphale panicked, scared of losing her new companion.

"No!" she exclaimed, embarrassingly loudly, gaining the attention of several passers-by and making her blush. Crowley was watching her with a raised eyebrow, and Aziraphale hurriedly dropped her eyes to her lap where she interlaced her fingers to keep from reaching out. The slide of the kid leather of her gloves were almost too smooth for the turmoil in her heart. "No, please. You're not unwelcome. I'm sorry, please-" She cut herself off, worried that she might reveal how desperate she felt to keep this possible new friend.

"Please what, angel?" Crowley prompted softly, and something about the address comforted Aziraphale. Surely Crowley wasn't mad at her if they were still calling her 'angel'?

"Please don't leave," Aziraphale pleaded with her lap. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Aziraphale saw Crowley unfold again, but their long limbs seemed a little more contained than they had a moment ago, their spread not quite so carelessly and unthinkingly possessive of the space they occupied.

"You didn't offend me," Crowley said, and Aziraphale was thankful that their voice seemed bright and easy. "Though I'm starting to wonder if I haven't offended you in some way."

The idea was so preposterous that it surprised Aziraphale into looking up. "Offended me? Of course you haven't, why- Have I done something to make you think I was offended?"

Crowley stared at her for a long considering moment. "You seem to be in the habit of trying to run away from me when we speak."

Aziraphale coloured. "I mean no offense. The way you speak to me is… new."

"So you're not in the habit of running away from suitors then?" Crowley asked, voice still easygoing, expression still light and open, if a little amused. Aziraphale looked down again, unable to face Crowley for what she had to say next.

"I've never really had one," Aziraphale confessed ashamedly to her lap. The gossip had said there was no man who'd ever met her and wanted to speak with her a second time. At parties, and dances, Aziraphale kept to the sides, or at the tables, and she no longer attended any event without a book in her purse. It saved her the embarrassment of waiting for a dance request that was never going to come, though it had taken her several years to learn to do so.

"That man from last night?"

"Gabriel-" Aziraphale's throat closed but she pushed on. "Gabriel is my fiancé. My mother arranged it. She said-" No, it was best not to repeat what Michael had said. Aziraphale didn't want to paint her mother in a bad light, and while she knew that her mother was looking out for her best interests, she had the feeling that Crowley wouldn't see it that way. "It's a fine match," she parroted. "We're to be married in two months."

She hadn't even been able to pick the date. Or consult on her dress. Her bridesmaids were cousins who could be commanded by her mother and her aunts to attend her for the event. The guests were all high society, friends of her mother's, and of Gabriel's, as well as business associates he wanted to impress. Not one was a friend of Aziraphale's (not that she had any). She hadn't even been allowed to pick any of the food. It was her wedding, but she was as much a part of it as a bird was part of a menagerie - she was not to speak, only to be looked at.

It wasn't until long fingers settled over hers that Aziraphale realized that her hands had started to shake, and that her vision was being distorted by tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized reflexively, delicately withdrawing one of her hands from under Crowley's, careful to not dislodge the comforting touch entirely.

"You don't need to apologize to me, angel," Crowley said, from closer than Aziraphale had been expecting. 

Aziraphale carefully dabbed her unshed tears away with the fingertip of her glove and glanced at her companion.

Crowley had moved closer, still leaving a fairly proper distance between them, and was now spread the other way on the bench. The hand over Aziraphale's was a gentle pressure, undemanding, a comfort offered and easy to remove if unwelcome. For a brief moment, Aziraphale contemplated turning her hand over, pressing their palms together, perhaps interlacing their fingers, but even that thought was enough to make her blush.

A comfortable silence settled over them as Crowley let Aziraphale pull herself together, and when she finally shifted the hand under Crowley's, sure enough, Crowley took their hand back without complaint, though they made no move to shift back along the bench back to where they had started. Aziraphale didn't mind the proximity. It was nice, sitting close to someone, especially someone who expected nothing from her. Besides, Crowley positively radiated heat, and their presence at Aziraphale's side was keeping her warm. Or perhaps that was just what Crowley's company did.

When she finally shifted, turning just a little bit towards Crowley, just enough to signify her willingness to rejoin the conversation again, a brown portfolio caught her attention. The weathered leather was balanced on Crowley's far knee, and Aziraphale remembered that Crowley had been drawing in it before they'd spotted her.

"Are you an artist?" she asked, hoping to learn a little more about her new friend, suddenly terribly aware of how much of herself she'd revealed over the last day, and how little she knew of Crowley.

Crowley startled, as if the question had been unexpected, and then picked up the portfolio to wave it in the air. "I sure am." They looked over at Aziraphale, their lips curled in a mischievous smile, and stared at her expectantly. As if they were waiting for Aziraphale to ask what she wanted to ask, as if waiting for her to ask for what she wanted.

Aziraphale paused, eyes flicking between the folio and Crowley's face, hoping Crowley would simply offer it to her, but the more she waited, the more wicked Crowley's grin became. Finally, Aziraphale steeled her nerves, fisted her fingers in her skirts, and forced the words out. "May I see your art?"

"Of course you can, angel," Crowley said immediately, almost too cheerful, too wicked. "All you had to do was ask."

She had no response to that, other than to hesitantly hold her hands out for the portfolio, which Crowley handed over without a fuss. It was heavy, and thick, full of loose sheaves of parchment, and there was a small lump where the stick of charcoal Crowley had been using was being held in place by the spine. When Aziraphale opened it, the drawing right on top was exactly as she'd expected, thick lines sketching out the two mothers and their two sons, who were long gone from the deck, but caught in time on the page.

Not wanting to ruin the pages, Aziraphale carefully removed a glove to carefully pick apart the pages with her fingernails, and she found her touch lingering on the outskirts of the art. Crowley had talent, that was certain even to Aziraphale's untrained eye. She could see the movement of the subject in every drawing, as if each one was coming to life right off the page. There was a woman walking her dog under the mothers, a man smoking a cigar under that, a nanny with a kite, a-

"Oh!" Aziraphale exclaimed as she slammed the leather closed, caught entirely unprepared by the naked man that had been staring at her from the page. Face aflame, her eyes darted over to Crowley, who was grinning so widely that it crinkled the corners of their eyes.

"You think I could give Michelangelo a run for his money?" Crowley asked, tone teasing as their eyebrows wiggled almost conspiratorially.

"Um," Aziraphale answered intelligently. She looked back down at the folder in her lap, back up at Crowley, and back down to the folder. Then she took a deep breath and opened it again.

It was easier, the second time, knowing what she was about to find. She tried to convince herself that it was no different than the Renaissance paintings she'd seen in museums, but those were already several hundred years old and their subjects, whoever they were, were long dead. It felt different, knowing the man she was looking down at was, likely, still alive. Worse still was the way he was staring at her from the page, dark eyes intense, as if demanding of her to take in the body he seemed so unashamed of, propped up as it was on what looked like a bed. An offering. A challenge.

"It's very…" She trailed off, the fingertips of her bare hand tracing the charcoal lines without touching.

"Pornographic?" Crowley supplied.

In a technical sense, it very much was, but that wasn't the feeling it evoked in Aziraphale. "Intimate," she said softly. "It's very intimate."

The next drawing was of a woman, also naked, also intimate, but there was something shocking about it that hit Aziraphale like the drawing of the man couldn't have. It stole her breath, even as it made her flush from her hair to her toes.

The woman was also on a bed, but rather than challenging the artist, she seemed completely unaware of them. Her dark hair was a messy halo around her head, caught up and tangled around in a hand raised over her head to clench desperately in the sheets. But it was neither of those things that so affected Aziraphale, nor was it the bared chest and back arched off the bed. No, the honour went to the woman's other hand, placed as it was between her legs, fingers curled and disappeared in-

Aziraphale closed her eyes against the drawing and the fire it was sending into her belly, but it did nothing to keep the charcoal lines from engraving themselves onto the backs of her eyelids. She couldn't stop picturing it, the look on the woman's face, the placement of her hands, the heaving of her bosom. She could almost feel fingers at the insides of her thighs, and it made her heart beat heavy between her legs.

Swallowing hard, she closed the portfolio and blindly handed it back - she wanted to see more, but she didn't think she could handle another drawing like that woman.

"You have a talent," Aziraphale managed to say, her breath shaky and her words hoarse.

There was a brief pause, and then Crowley said, voice entirely sincere, "Thank you."

"Do you…" Aziraphale took a deep breath and then gathered herself, sitting up straight and turning her attention, and her head, towards Crowley for a proper conversation. Like she'd been taught. Like she'd never had the opportunity for. "Do you do other forms of art as well?"

"I enjoy sculpting," Crowley granted, with a dip of their head, "even if I don't often have the opportunity to do it, but what I really enjoy is painting."

Aziraphale remembered what they had said about Renaissance art and wondered if Crowley's assessment had come from an artist's eye. "I think I would like to see that," Aziraphale said, a little slowly.

Crowley smiled. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any with me, angel."

She blinked, and then coloured when realization came over her. Somehow, she'd completely forgotten Crowley's class, and how little the third class passengers had been able to bring with them. Most had come on board with no more than the clothes on their backs, and considering how similar Crowley's outfit was now to the one they had been wearing last night, similar enough to be the same exact articles of clothing, it was most likely Crowley was one such passenger.

Aziraphale opened her mouth, about to express a desire to see Crowley paint once they landed in America, but she hadn't even asked where Crowley was going. Say nothing as to whether or not Crowley would want anything to do with her once they were no longer isolated on a ship. She closed her mouth, and then opened it again with a different question.

"What do you like to paint?"

"I quite enjoy painting people," Crowley said, looking out over the deck and its occupants. "I like to break them down to what makes them them, what they desire, what they yearn, their temptations. That darkness underneath. It's amazing what you can see in a person from the other side of a canvas."

There were no words for the emotions Crowley sparked in Aziraphale's chest. It was all too easy to picture herself the subject of one of Crowley's paintings, sat just-so for hours at a time, all the while at the mercy of those intense eyes cracking her open to her foundation.

"And I must say," Crowley said, turning that fearsome gaze upon Aziraphale once again. "I would love the opportunity to paint you, angel."

"Me?" If she hadn't already been flushed from Crowley's attention, she would have flushed at the way the word escaped from her like the squeak of a kitten. "You w-would-? How would you-" She couldn't even get the words out, too overcome by the thought of it.

"Mhm."

Crowley's gaze kept her pinned, even when they reached over to Aziraphale's lap and carefully lifted her bare hand. Aziraphale couldn't have counted the times a man had kissed her hand per the demands of high society etiquette, but there was something about the delicate way Crowley held her hand in their long fingers, something about the shocking unexpectedness of Crowley's skin meeting hers for the first time. A thumb brushed back and forth over the back of her hand, sparking fire in its wake.

"I know exactly how I'd paint you. But I don't dare tell you," Crowley winked, "or else you would run away from me for sure."

The world around them disappeared in that moment, and Aziraphale could only watch dumbly as Crowley stood and bowed over the hand they still held. "It's been a pleasure, angel," they said with that mischievous smile before they pressed a soft kiss to the bare skin at the back of Aziraphale's fingers. "I'll see you soon."

And then Crowley was gone, taking all of the air in the world with them.

Aziraphale wasn't sure how long she sat there before she heard a call from behind her.

"Aziraphale."

The sound of her mother's voice was like a bucket of cold water over her head and, feeling strangely protective over the warmth lingering from Crowley's touch on her hand, Aziraphale hastily pulled her glove back on. She stood to face her mother, unable to keep from pulling and patting at her clothes, as if she'd been caught in a compromising position. Which was absurd, but even the knowledge that it was couldn't dissuade her mind of the notion.

"Who was that young man?" Michael asked, and though her tone was polite, Aziraphale could hear the distaste in her mother's voice.

"That was- AJ," Aziraphale stuttered, almost forgetting to use the name Crowley had given Gabriel and her mother the night before. "You met last night on the stern. We encountered one another by chance again and I was lucky enough to be granted a viewing of their sketchbook."

The women with her mother, the countesses and Madame Tracy, nodded in interest, but Michael just stared at Aziraphale with a narrowed look she knew all too well. She would receive a lecture later, Aziraphale knew it already, but it wouldn't happen now, not in public.

A bugle sounding off behind Aziraphale nearly made her jump out of her skin, and Madame Tracy rolled her eyes. "We're going to dinner, not to war," she scoffed.

Aziraphale attempted to hide her smile, but the further narrowing of her mother's eyes told her she'd been unsuccessful.

"It's time to dress for dinner, Aziraphale," Michael said loftily, and Aziraphale ducked her head.

"Yes mother," she said meekly, following her mother back to their rooms and preparing herself for another long evening.

It wasn't until she was being laced and compressed into her corset that she wondered if Crowley had seen Michael coming and had gracefully bowed out before her mother could make a scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update next Saturday and don't forget to toss a [reblog](https://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/190591686323) to your Writer~


	4. Dining on Your Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a woman!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning.

**1912 April 13, Saturday - Day 4 (Part Two)**

The weight of her book in her purse was a teasing pull at Aziraphale's wrist, and she desperately wished she could pull it out since no one was paying her any mind anyway, but she knew the second she tried, her mother would remember that she was lingering at the back of their group. They had already circled the room three times, greeting everyone as if they hadn't spent all day with them, as if they hadn't done this some dance the night before.

Her corset was laced almost too tightly, keeping her breaths shallow, and Aziraphale just wanted to sit down so she could eat. So she could finish and retire to her room to reflect on her conversation with Crowley while she brushed her hair. But she knew from experience that dinner was still a little off, could read the way the room was still milling about, high society circling one another like water in a whirlpool. Aziraphale certainly felt dizzy enough from it, faces and names passing her by, the proper etiquette for speaking to that earl and this duchess.

The glitz and glamour of it all only made Aziraphale crave solitude, or even another evening out on the deck, alone with the wind and her thoughts. And Crowley.

Aziraphale shook the thought away. It was dangerous thinking. Hope always was.

"Aziraphale, dear, come meet our guests for the evening."

She couldn't, for the life of her, determine if the voice that had called her had been her mother's or her fiancé's, but it was all the same. How often had Gabriel opened his mouth and Michael's words had fallen out? How many times had she heard her mother speak with Gabriel's tongue? Still, it didn't matter. They were one in the same, to be obeyed the same, and Aziraphale dutifully moved through the small group they'd collected.

"There she is," someone said, and it was such a perfect mix of Michael's polite exasperation and Gabriel's possessiveness that Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to guess its speaker either if she hadn't seen Gabriel's mouth move in sync. He reached out for her, curling his fingers so tightly around her elbow that she wondered if she would bruise under her long gloves. Again. "Aziraphale, this is Duke Hastur and Lady Ashtoreth."

She was practically dragged forward, presented to an elderly man with no hair, too-pale skin, and too-dark eyes. Eyes that lingered lingered uncomfortably first on her face, and then her chest. Unwilling, but unable to escape convention, Aziraphale offered him her hand, and he smirked up at her as he kissed the back of her glove. She fought both the urge to rip off her glove and set it on fire, and the urge to hide behind Gabriel.

"A pleasure," Aziraphale murmured, dipping into a curtsy even as the duke's too-tight fingers refused to let go for too long.

There was a long moment where Aziraphale was stuck in place, unable to move until the duke released her, and then there was movement over the duke's shoulder, someone moving up to his side. Finally, Aziraphale was released, and she turned to the woman who had moved into place at the duke's side and curtsied again.

"The pleasure is all mine, I think," a familiar voice said in a wrong, too-posh accent, and Aziraphale slowly lifted her eyes in disbelief.

Where the Lady Ashtoreth was supposed to be standing on the duke's arm, Crowley stood instead, dressed as a lady. A proper, first class… _lady_. With makeup and jewels, and wavy red hair pinned up and back like Aziraphale's, the shape of their bosom no longer subtlety hidden, but rather, subtly emphasized with a low square collar and a high waist.

Aziraphale… _stared_ , at a complete loss for words and Crowley… Crowley _winked_ at her.

"Aziraphale," Gabriel said warningly under his breath, gripping her elbow so hard that Aziraphale flinched in pain, finally dropping her gaze from the beautiful woman across from her. "You're being rude."

"Not at all," Crowley laughed, voice light, almost musical; flirtatious. Something about it, or perhaps it was the situation itself, sent heat into Aziraphale's cheeks. "I must say it happens all the time, but not usually from someone so darling. Why don't you sit next to me tonight?"

Aziraphale had no response to that, but apparently she didn't need to give one. Long, graceful, black-gloved fingers reached into her field of vision, gently extracting her arm from Gabriel's grip before linking them at the elbows and guiding her through the maze of socialites to their table. Aziraphale almost felt stupid, unable to do anything but stare down at the stark contrast of a black-gloved arm curled around her own white-gloved arm. In fact, Crowley's entire outfit contrasted completely with hers, every piece of clothing a varied but simple shade of black against the pale beiges and blues and whites of Aziraphale's outfit, and suddenly Aziraphale felt shabby at Crowley's side.

The stewards lingering about the room stepped up when Crowley and Aziraphale arrived at their table, pulling out their chairs. Aziraphale couldn't help but watch Crowley as they sat, struck by her companion's feminine grace, and the way it contrasted completely to their masculine mannerisms that morning, and the day before. In fact, if she hadn't heard Crowley's voice, and been winked at, she would have guessed that she was with a completely new person. A twin, perhaps.

She risked a glance sideways and was relieved that Crowley wasn't looking at her, but rather was lighting a cigarette held in place by a delicate silver cigarette holder. Aziraphale had intended only to glance, free to stare without reprimand as long as it took her mother and Gabriel to join them at the table, but Crowley's profile, the line of her jaw, the arch of her neck, the curls so carefully pinned, and she suddenly felt as if she were looking upon an angel.

Or perhaps a devil. She certainly felt tempted.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Crowley asked, eyes sliding towards Aziraphale, the curl of her lips and the tone of her voice amused. And why wouldn't they? she? be? Aziraphale suddenly swallowed the sick feeling, and sharp words, bubbling in her chest, feeling as if she'd been played for a fool.

"You're a woman!" The words burst out of Aziraphale so suddenly and so unexpectedly that they startled her, not just with their surprise, but also the undertone of accusation. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked by her own rudeness, and hurriedly looked around for anyone who might have heard, but the rest of their dining companions were still several tables away chatting with acquaintances, and not even the stewards were looking at her. No one was looking at her at all, none save a wickedly-grinning Crowley. Oddly enough, it was that familiar smile that really assured her that the woman she was sitting with was the same person she'd sat with on the deck only an hour ago.

"Very much so," Crowley said with a gracious nod. "Did you have doubts?"

Aziraphale suddenly couldn't look at her any more, her face hot with embarrassment. "I… I wasn't sure," she confessed quietly. "Your dress- That is, your trousers- And you kissed my hand-" She cut off her own stuttering, feeling like she was just making it worse, but Crowley said nothing.

But when Crowley continued to be silent, Aziraphale braved a glance upward and was surprised to find Crowley frowning, almost leaning away from her.

"I don't mean to offend," Aziraphale said thickly, her embarrassment heating quickly towards shame.

"You didn't offend me, Miss Aziraphale," Crowley said slowly, and the unexpectedly formal address felt like a slap to the face.

She jerked back, shocked, hurt curling sharp and painful in her heart. Crowley's frown deepened and Aziraphale looked down again, back into her lap where her fingers were twisting themselves into painful knots.

"Miss Aziraphale-?"

Aziraphale squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could do the same for her ears. "Please-" She swallowed hard and then tried again, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Please don't call me that."

Why did Crowley's sudden propriety sting so much? Why did Crowley affect her at all, much less so strongly? They had only met twice- thrice, now, and they were still practically strangers, for all that Aziraphale's heart had been cracked open at each encounter. It was just that, for the first time in her life, she felt like she had met someone who actually treated her like a person. Like her own person. And for all that she shouldn't, as a well-bred girl, be letting her emotions control her, they were emotions and remained woefully unaffected by reason and logic.

"What would you like me to call you then?" There was no judgement to the question, no emotion - nothing. It felt as impersonal as the empty plate on the table in front of her.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words were so difficult to push out. It was always difficult to ask for what she wanted, it always had been, once she'd learned how often she was going to be denied. Asking implied hope, but hope hurt. It was dangerous to want because it was dangerous to hope that she would be granted her desire.

A hand slowly, gently, landed on her knee, the black glove encasing it a stark contrast to her pale skirts. Still, it gave her a measure of courage - it told her that, for once, it might not be so dangerous to hope. She might be granted what she wanted. She might even be given it freely.

"I liked when you called me- a-angel," she choked out, wringing her hands.

"Is that all you liked that I did?" Crowley's voice was comfortingly warm again, her breath near the side of Aziraphale's face warmer. But it was the memories of what Crowley had done to her - kissing her hand and brazenly touching her hair, the way she looked at her, spoke to her - that really set Aziraphale aflame.

Aziraphale shook her head, almost frantically, wishing for wings for the first time in her life for a completely different reason. Oh, the ultimate goal of it was to escape, but she'd never wanted to escape from actually being paid attention to before. She'd never really had attention paid to her before.

"I do so hope my fiancée hasn't been chatting your ear off, Lady Ashtoreth," Gabriel said from Aziraphale's other side, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

She had been so caught up in Crowley that she hadn't noticed the rest of the guests arriving at their table and beginning to take their seats. Gabriel stepped up to the chair two away from Aziraphale, and pulled it out for Michael to sit in, and then sat himself in the chair between them. It was the moment that Aziraphale would typically feel her cage constricting around her, but for once, the seat Michael typically occupied at Aziraphale's left was taken up by Crowley. By a friend.

Her cage was shrinking, but for the first time, the door was open.

"On the contrary," Crowley said from around her, sounding the very picture of a high class lady. "I dare say she's been indulging me. She's delightfully shy, isn't she?"

Crowley's hand squeezed her knee, gentle and almost teasing, but in the same moment, a larger, more familiar hand landed possessively on her other thigh, and Aziraphale wasn't sure which touch startled her more. While Crowley's touch was unexpected but welcome, Gabriel's touch was expected but unwelcome. The too-warm, too-heavy weight of his touch was too high on her thigh, too high to even feign propriety, if it was proper at all, and it was making her stomach tie itself into knots. Even the prospect of dinner suddenly held no appeal to her.

"A little too shy at times, I think," Gabriel replied, leaning in close with a leer, his fingers squeezing her thigh, sending tension into every one of her muscles. If her skirt hadn't been stretched over her lap, she was afraid they would have tried to crawl right between her legs.

She looked beseechingly towards her mother, but Michael just smiled at her, eyes glittering darkly, and Aziraphale had to look away again. She didn't know why she'd even tried - her attempts to talk her mother out of the marriage arrangement, both during its conception and after its finalization, had already failed. Many times over. Aziraphale straightened with a small, stiff nod, and fixed her gaze on some distant point as she pulled her gloves off to lay in her lap.

Crowley's hand squeezed her knee again, touch lingering, questioning, but Aziraphale couldn't bear to look at her, or else she'd surely see Aziraphale's shame. After a moment, Crowley's hand slowly pulled away, leaving Aziraphale's knee strangely cold and her chest strangely empty. Thankfully, Gabriel's hand pulled away as well at the approach of waiters with serving bowls of caviar, though his touch lingered far longer, and its absence only left Aziraphale with a sense of relief.

Conversations started up around her as caviar was scooped out onto her plate, but none of them seemed willing to include her. Even Crowley was silent. So as Aziraphale took her first bite, she curled the fingers of her free hand tight around the gloves in her lap, undoubtedly wrinkling the silk, but at least the nails digging into her palm helped to keep her from screaming out.

To her surprise, a bare, calloused hand curled gently over hers, long fingers worming into her palm and forcing her nails from her skin. She very carefully did her best not to react to the unexpected contact, but she did risk a glance sideways and was further surprised to see Crowley eating with her left hand, something that had been beaten out of every left-handed girl Aziraphale had ever known at finishing school. She was glad it hadn't been beaten out of Crowley, or else Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to hold her hand as they ate. Although, when she thought about it, Aziraphale wasn't actually sure that Crowley _was_ a real, proper lady. She hoped she would get the chance to ask.

Crowley caught her looking and winked, and Aziraphale looked away, her face feeling too warm.

Through the first several courses, Aziraphale held onto the hand in hers far too tightly, on edge, waiting for the moment that Crowley was going to pull away. But by the halfway point in the meal, with no sign that Crowley had any intention of releasing her, Aziraphale finally started to relax. Crowley squeezed her hand gently, once, shot her a warm smile, and for the first time in a long time, Aziraphale thought she could taste contentment.


	5. Party! in Third Class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to show you a _real_ party."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops I forgot to upload yesterday my bad. -.-;

**1912 April 13, Saturday - Day 4 (Part Three)**

As the laughter garnered from Madame Tracy's story slowly died down, Aziraphale found herself actually smiling; another first for a dinner party, especially one that her mother and Gabriel were also at. It helped that Crowley's hand was still warm in her own, the weight of their contact a gentle pressure in her lap. It helped too that Aziraphale liked Madame Tracy - she was kind and practical in a way most of the first class passengers weren't, something which Aziraphale suspected had something to do with her upbringing outside of high society. Michael had scoffed at her 'new money' status, but Aziraphale rather liked the person it had made.

There was a lull in the conversation, and one of the older men across the table stood. "Join me for a brandy, gentlemen?" he asked, and like a flock of startled birds, the men at the table rose with him. Thankfully, Gabriel was among them.

Crowley gently squeezed her hand and pulled away as Gabriel leaned over Aziraphale, and Aziraphale reluctantly let her go. She had no idea what Gabriel would say if he caught them, but she knew it wouldn't be pleasant. For either of them.

He set both of his hands on her shoulders, and it felt like she was being pushed under water. "Shall I walk you back to our rooms?" he asked, breath too warm against the side of her face.

"No, I'll stay here, thank you," she said quietly with a small shake of her head. At least, she would for a reasonable amount of time before excusing herself as well. At least a denial now kept her from having to walk with Gabriel, and perhaps be accosted by him at their arrival to their rooms.

Gabriel hummed distractedly and squeezed her shoulders before walking away, and Aziraphale felt a weight lift from her at the sight of his retreating back. A weight that had nothing to do with the absence of his hands. Movement to her left caught her eye, and she turned to find Crowley pulling her gloves back on, like she was about to leave. Loneliness washed over Aziraphale, quick and cold like the ocean, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat - it was true she wanted to stay to delay the inevitable with Gabriel, but she also wanted to stay so that she could spend more time with Crowley.

"I'm afraid I must be off as well," Crowley said to the table at large, standing more gracefully than Aziraphale had ever been able to manage. Aziraphale stared up at her, feeling her heart beat wildly against the claws of desperation closing tight around it. Crowley's eyes found hers, and Crowley smiled beatifically. "However, I would like to finish our conversation. Walk with me," she said, looking down at Aziraphale, but it still took a moment to realize that it was her being spoken to.

"Me?" she asked, surprised. Crowley smiled, soft and warm, and nodded.

Aziraphale looked towards her mother and Michael nodded imperiously, both granting permission and demanding Aziraphale attend to the more wealthy. Suddenly filled with nervous energy, Aziraphale got to her feet a great deal less gracefully than Crowley had, but there was no judgement on Crowley's face when Aziraphale stood before her, clumsily pulling on her own gloves. Her mother, however, was watching her with narrowed eyes, and Aziraphale could almost hear her hiss _"Do not mess this up."_ After all, it was the same thing she'd been told before every social engagement back home.

"Come along," Crowley said cheerfully, linking arms with Aziraphale and guiding her through the maze of tables and chairs and out of the formal dining hall.

They walked in companionable silence all the way up the grand staircase, but Aziraphale's mind was swirling with questions, and she couldn't hold her tongue for long. But as they neared the clock, the questions built on Aziraphale's tongue and she opened her mouth to let them out. Only Crowley beat her to it.

"Would you like to go to a real party, angel?" Crowley asked a low murmur, leaning in close as she guided them towards the outer deck rather than the suites.

Aziraphale frowned, confused and feeling like she was missing out on the opportunity she thought she'd had to get to know Crowley better. "But- I thought…"

Crowley turned towards her to back out of the door to the deck and her smile was so warm and soft and welcoming that Aziraphale wanted to… to touch it. To taste it. She did neither, only followed Crowley into the cold.

"I promise to tell you anything you wish to know. But those stuffy affairs that the first class calls a party is no way to end a night," she scoffed derisively. "I want to show you a _real_ party."

Aziraphale blinked. "You mean-" She glanced around surreptitiously, but there were few passengers partaking of the air and ocean this late at night, and none close enough to overhear them. "You mean in third class?"

Crowley nodded, smiling that wicked smile of hers again.

"Can we?" Aziraphale asked, not wanting to get her hopes up.

"Well, _you're_ allowed to go where you like, but _I_ for one will receive a talking to if I don't show up."

There was a long pause, where Aziraphale waited for Crowley to say she'd been joking, to take it back, but Crowley only watched her, waiting patiently for her response. And Aziraphale realized that what she was waiting to pass never would - thus far, while Crowley had teased and flirted, she'd never lied. She'd never given Aziraphale a reason not to trust her.

"I… I would like to go. Please."

Crowley's grin turned wide and pleased, and then her hand slid down Aziraphale's arm to interlace their fingers. "Good. Then follow me and be very quiet."

Even though Crowley had said that she was allowed to go wherever she wanted, and therefore Crowley, dressed as she was, should be allowed the same, they ended up sneaking past every guest and steward on their way to steerage. Aziraphale half-suspected Crowley had done it because she could, but she couldn't find it in herself to mind. She'd never felt so alive than during their sneaking, her heart pounding, her hand almost numb from how tightly she gripped Crowley's, and her lips hurt from how hard she kept herself from smiling, or worse, laughing and giving away the game.

The sheer din that rose out of the stairwell to greet them made Aziraphale flush with excitement. The music seemed to match her heartbeat, fast-paced and cheerful; it sounded like fighting music. And the laughter! Aziraphale had never heard so many people be so happy! It was as far from her quiet life of soft conversation and tinkling crystalware and calming violins as she'd never dared to dream. She paused, unable to help the way her heart skipped with trepidation, and Crowley looked back at her.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, her husky voice still audible over the ruckus below them.

Oddly enough, Aziraphale did. So she swallowed and nodded, and let herself be pulled down the stairs.

As if seeking to immediately allay Aziraphale's fears of being ostracized, the people who saw them first let out loud cheers and threw their arms in the air in greeting, apparently uncaring of the fact that the newcomers were wearing dresses worth more money than they would ever see in a lifetime. They shoved glasses in both Crowley's and Aziraphale's hands, and Aziraphale didn't even have time to thank them before the pulsing crowd pulled them further into the room. Scared of getting lost in the masses, Aziraphale clung tightly to Crowley's hand, but Crowley held back just as tightly, and eventually they were spat out in front of several children in a small, empty clearing.

There were five in all, four boys and a girl, and one of the boys pushed forward, his too-long brown hair practically hanging in his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

"You're late," he complained so imperiously that Aziraphale had to bite back a smile. He looked Crowley up and down and scowled. "Why are you dressed like a lady?"

"I _am_ a lady," Crowley said, her face so serious and her tone so scandalized that Aziraphale lost her battle with her smile and had to hide it behind her hand instead.

"I'm sorry," said another boy, this one with curly brown hair. He stepped up beside his friend and gestured at Aziraphale. " _She's_ a lady. You're just Crowley."

Aziraphale couldn't help it anymore - she laughed out loud, the sound startling her. She couldn't actually remember the last time she'd laughed. Crowley jerked towards her, looking just as startled, and then something shifted in her expression and she looked… awed. It made Aziraphale blush and turn away, but Crowley let go of her hand to reach up to cup her cheek, which only made her face hotter.

"You even laugh like an angel," Crowley murmured, eyes darting all over Aziraphale's face. The contact was just as intense as Crowley's words the day before, and it froze Aziraphale and stole the breath from her chest.

Crowley's gaze dropped to her mouth and Aziraphale stopped breathing. She knew that look, she knew what that look meant, what it meant they wanted. Her gaze fell to Crowley's mouth and she couldn't look away. Did that mean that she, too... ? Oh, she might. She really might. She might and she just...

"Ewww!"

The chorus of complaints from the children made Aziraphale blink, and she suddenly realized how close Crowley's face was to hers. How they were still standing in a room full of people, where anyone could see them. She'd been brought up better than that, to leave affection for behind closed doors. Embarrassed, Aziraphale whirled away, pressing the silk of her gloves to the heat of her face.

Crowley had just about to- _She'd_ just been about to-! But even Gabriel had never-! Oh, but, she'd never wanted Gabriel to…

Feeling dizzy, Aziraphale closed her eyes and pressed her hand to them, but the world still spun.

"Angel?"

There was a tentative touch of fingers to her elbow and she shook her head. "I'm alright," she said, but the words came out quiet and hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm alright." She lowered her hand and turned back around.

Crowley was frowning but it looked to be in concern, rather than anger, like when she Aziraphale rebuked Gabriel. "Was I being too intense again?" she asked softly, the fingers on Aziraphale's elbow sliding down to her hand.

Aziraphale paused and then nodded, unable to meet Crowley's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I told you, angel," she said, drawing closer. "You don't have to apologize to me."

She glanced up and Crowley smiled down at her, almost encouragingly, and squeezed her hand.

"You're too kind to me, Crowley." The words fell from her lips unbidden, but that didn't make them any less true.

A strange look came over Crowley's face and then her smile turned sad. "I'm really not," she denied with a small shake of her head. "I think the people in your life just haven't been kind enough."

Etiquette dictated that she reject Crowley's statement, but a lifetime of wishing for freedom held the words back on her tongue. Crowley gave a small nod, as if she'd expected it, and then she straightened, putting some unexpected space between them and making the din of music and shouting and laughter rush back in between them.

"Enough of that kind of talk for now," Crowley declared. "It's time we danced."

It took a minute for the words to register, but when they did, Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley in dawning horror. "Crowley, dear, no-"

But Crowley was wearing that mischievous smile again, and she stepped in close. "We'll have to be a lot closer to make it work though," she said devilishly.

There was a hand holding hers up in the air, and another hand against her back, pushing her into Crowley's body, and Aziraphale's free hand fluttered about uselessly before landing on Crowley's shoulder. She stared up at her friend in alarm.

"Crowley, I can't dance!" she exclaimed, digging in her heels, but Crowley only grinned wider, her expression closer to manic that delight, but it was a wonder to see all the same.

"Me either! Let's find out how!"

She didn't give Aziraphale another chance to get out of it, just whirled her away in such a manner that Aziraphale had no choice but to step with her. She shrieked as they twirled past faces and shouts, and Crowley was right there with her, laughing all the while. They spun and they spun until all Aziraphale knew was the pounding of her heart in her ears, the gentle pressure of Crowley's hands at her hand and her waist, and the sight of Crowley's face, bright with happiness under the dim lighting.


	6. Drunk on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Or do you just want to know what it's like to be _had_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bout to play Legend of Zelda for the first time. (It's Ocarina of Time.) That has nothing to do with this chapter, except that I'll start playing after I post. lol

**1912 April 13, Saturday - Day 4 (Part Four)**

"I feel- like the world- isss still spiiinniiing," Aziraphale gasped, trying to keep her feet and largely failing. She felt positively _drunk_ with happiness and the pleasantly-genuine exhaustion she'd gained from dancing.

Thankfully, Crowley was tall and steady at her side, her arm where it was linked with Aziraphale's was immovable, and her pace across the empty deck was slow and ambling, perfectly accommodating Aziraphale's unsteadiness. The wind was trying its best to shock her awake, the air biting at her skin through her clothes, but the chill only made Aziraphale sleepy and longing for the warm comfort of her bed.

"I'm not an expert," Crowley said, sounding amused, "but I believe the beer is to blame for that."

Aziraphale flopped her hand at her friend. "I've never had any before and I quite liked it. I wanted to have as much as I could in case I never got the chance to have it again."

"We won't dock until next week, angel," Crowley reminded her, but unfortunately, Aziraphale already knew that. She also knew it was only a matter of time before her mother or Gabriel discovered that she was actually enjoying herself for once in her life and called a stop to it.

Humming noncommittally, Aziraphale found herself playing with Crowley's gloved fingers, and it took a long time for something to occur to her.

" _Are_ you a lady?" she asked, fascinated by the slide of her silk gloves over Crowley's. "A proper lady, I mean. Like me. Aaaa…. a _Lady_."

Crowley laughed, that amused, husky laugh of hers that warmed Aziraphale from the inside out. "I used to be. I was a lot like you, but I wasn't strong enough to stay. Not like you."

"Oh, I'm not strong at all," Aziraphale denied, shaking her head and stumbling because of it. Crowley steadied her and then brushed a thumb across her cheek, silencing her.

"You really are, angel," Crowley murmured. "You have no idea."

Aziraphale stared up at her for a long moment, her vision narrowing until all she saw was Crowley's beautiful eyes. But just as slowly as Crowley had come into focus, she shifted right back out, and Aziraphale had to blink her eyes and shake her head. Perhaps the beer had gotten to her.

"But yes, I was like you, until I got tired of my mother always trying to dictate my life," Crowley continued, and got them walking again. Aziraphale hadn't even realized they'd stopped. "The final straw came a few years ago, when she arranged a marriage, like yours, with someone against my will. I decided it was better to live on the streets than with either my mother or my to-be husband, so I left."

Aziraphale was ashamed to realize that the concept of fleeing had never really occurred to her. She'd always wished to be granted wings, but had never bothered trying to make her own.

"I wonder if we still would have met if you'd never left," Aziraphale mused. Would Crowley have been as she is now? Would they have gotten along? Would Aziraphale's heart still pound in her chest when Crowley looked at her?

She wondered if Crowley was wondering the same, because the arm linked with hers tightened, pulling her closer to Crowley.

"I would like to think so," Crowley said, wistful enough to put heat in Aziraphale's face, "but I also think we might actually have. Do you know of Lady Fell?"

Aziraphale thought about it for a moment, sifting through her foggy memories, and then stopped so suddenly that she almost toppled them both with the resultant wobbling. " _You're_ Lady Fell's daughter?" she exclaimed, so loudly that it echoed through the night air. She slapped a hand over her mouth and looked around, but they were as alone as they'd been when they'd crept up to the deck from the party.

Crowley, however, simply raised an eyebrow, apparently unconcerned by the loud noise. "Oh, so you've heard of me? What is mother saying about me now?"

"She said you died!" Aziraphale was having a hard time modulating either her shock or her voice. Though she thought that was quite fair considering that someone she'd heard had died several years ago was, in fact, very much alive. "We went to your funeral!"

"Really?" Crowley asked, looking intrigued. "I'm sorry I missed that. I always thought it would be fun attending my own funeral."

Aziraphale gaped at her, her mind too sluggish to properly process anything.

"What else?" Crowley prodded, almost excitedly. "If she was angry enough at me to say I died, she must have made a strange request about the funeral."

"She- we weren't to wear black," Aziraphale managed to say.

Despite the years since it had happened, Aziraphale still remembered the day well. She had still been a child then, or rather, she'd not yet had her first blood, when her mother had informed her that the teenage daughter of one of her friends had died. She had the maid force Aziraphale into a dreadful black dress, several years too old and several sizes too small, and only after Aziraphale was bundled into her clothes, bound so tightly that she could hardly move, did Michael burst back in and demand Aziraphale change out of her 'dreary clothes' at once. Aziraphale's maid at the time had been annoyed and less than gentle, stripping Aziraphale back out of her clothes, but Aziraphale had only been glad that she would be able to wear clothes that fit.

"Apparently, you wore too much of it in life, and we weren't to humour you in death."

Suddenly, Crowley's worldly knowledge made more sense - if she was Aziraphale's age when she disappeared, then Crowley was closer to Gabriel's age than Aziraphale's. It came as a bit of a relief, knowing that Aziraphale wasn't missing out on something a woman her age had already done, but that she had plenty of time to still do that. It was more of a comfort than she would have thought.

Crowley laughed, a new laugh, the sound uncomfortably bitter, but it wasn't without amusement. Aziraphale didn't like it at all.

"That sounds like mother," she said, unsurprised, with a nonchalant shrug of a shoulder. "Here," she murmured, pulling open the door that led to the first class rooms.

Aziraphale stepped inside, warmed not just by leaving the cold air behind her, but the hand at the base of her spine as Crowley followed her inside.

The long, narrow hallways carried sound far too easily, and Aziraphale had to make sure she kept her voice down when she spoke - any further outbursts _would_ be noticed, and it would not be pleasant. "Does that mean you also have rooms in first class?" she asked.

For a moment, a split second, she imagined waking in the dead of night, sneaking from her rooms to Crowley's in her nightgown, and crawling between Crowley's sheets, where her friend would welcome her with open arms and warm affection. She shook the thought away, but it still left heat burning in her cheeks.

Crowley laughed again, this time more amused than bitter, and the fan of air it sent against Aziraphale's neck only served to warm her further. "Nah. I left because I was tired of the endless dishonest, disingenuous politeness that plagues the first class. It's all the same and my hatred for everything it is, was, and will be hasn't faded." She paused, looked down at Aziraphale, and then brazenly reached up to tug one of Aziraphale's curls just like she'd done earlier that morning, only this time she brushed the knuckles of her glove against Aziraphale's cheek. Only, this time, both the look on her face and the tug were less a great deal less contemplative and a great deal more flirtatious.

"Well, almost everything," she grinned.

Aziraphale blushed and looked away.

"But no, my rented rooms are in third class where the real fun is," Crowley finished, letting go of Aziraphale's hair.

"I'm afraid I still don't understand why you were at dinner tonight then," Aziraphale admitted. She could see her door ahead, and she desperately wanted to dig her heels in, just to buy a little more time with Crowley. Or worse, sneak back to third class with her - she could even picture it: stealing through the Titanic in her nightgown, sneaking under Crowley's sheets to lay in her warm and welcome embrace. "Or who that man was."

"Ah. Well, Duke Hastur is a proper duke, true enough," Crowley said, her voice light but her expression wrinkled with distaste. "I hate to tell you this angel, but there are men in this world who will pay for the company of a woman." It was knowledge Aziraphale already had, and she knew and understood what these men paid for, and her throat when tight at the thought that Crowley had submitted to such a man. "Hastur in particular can't keep a wife - either because he kills them or because they run away. So he must pay for company in places such as this. These clothes are actually his, though I'm very tempted to steal them just to burn them. I'm tempted to steal everything of his and burn it."

Crowley's sudden darkness made Aziraphale halt, and she wavered at the sudden loss of momentum. Crowley stopped and looked at her, brows pinched in confusion before they cleared with understanding.

"I don't mean to frighten you, angel," she said softly, turning to face Aziraphale completely. It pulled their arms apart, and Crowley made no move to touch her again, and Aziraphale hoped it was only because Crowley thought that she might need the distance. "Your world, the world that used to be mine too, is sheltered. There's a lot of darkness in the world, and sometimes you have to cultivate some within yourself just to make sure the rest doesn't swallow you up."

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded, and then tentatively reached for Crowley's hands. Crowley gave them easily, her face softening as she moved back into Aziraphale's space. "I know. And I know that reading about things in books is nothing like experiencing them, but I just… I wish the world was a better place." Crowley squeezed her hands gently and Aziraphale squeezed back. "And I didn't mean to make you think that I was… rejecting you, you just surprised me is all."

Crowley's lips quirked, her expression relieved, and she raised both of Aziraphale's hands to press a kiss across her gloved index fingers. "Told you, angel, you don't have to apologize to me," she said warmly before stepping backwards, pulling Aziraphale the few feet forward towards her door.

Aziraphale went without protest, but a question was burning her tongue, and her mouth opened to release it before she could choke on it. "Have you?" she asked thickly, the question half-formed and without a foundation. Crowley looked at her questioningly and Aziraphale's face burned as she clarified. "Have you been paid to be Duke Hastur's company?"

Crowley stopped walking and Aziraphale followed suit, wary about the slow grin blooming on Crowley's face.

"What are you asking, angel?" she practically purred, stepping forward into Aziraphale's space. Aziraphale backed away without a thought, like they were dancing again, only Crowley kept coming towards her and Aziraphale kept backing away. Until she bumped into a wall and was forced into a standstill. Crowley stepped forward again, right into Aziraphale's body, and the almost-too-sharp points of her hips settled against Aziraphale.

The contact was gentle but unexpected, and so painfully _intimate_ , despite the layers of skirts between them, that it made Aziraphale's breath shudder in her chest. She was frozen, almost like she was whenever Gabriel attempted to display his... 'affection' (possession), but for once, it wasn't because she had no wings with which to fly away. No, she was frozen by the utterly unfamiliar desire for _more_.

A desire that only flamed brighter when Crowley brazenly set her hands to Aziraphale's waist.

"Are you asking if Duke Hastur has ever had me?" Crowley asked, her face drawing painfully slowly nearer. Aziraphale swallowed hard and her lips parted, pulling in shallow breaths.

"Or are you asking if I've ever been had by a man?"

Closer and closer that red mouth drew, and Aziraphale was helpless in the face of its imminent touch. She didn't think she wanted it any other way.

"Or maybe you're asking what it's like to be had by a man?"

No, Aziraphale had never wanted to know that, but there was a curious throbbing between her legs, right where a man would take her. Only, it wasn't a man making her ache so fiercely, it was Crowley. It was an unfamiliar want, an unfamiliar _need_ , stronger than any hunger she'd ever had for food or rare books.

"Or do you just want to know-"

\- Crowley was so close that Aziraphale could taste her breath on her tongue -

"-what it's like-"

\- Aziraphale's breath hitched when Crowley's mouth bypassed hers to breathe words-turned-air along Aziraphale's jaw to her neck-

"-to be _had_?"

The tacky but soft press of a lipsticked kiss to the sensitive, tender flesh of Aziraphale's neck stole the breath right from her lungs. Hot breath fanned over Aziraphale's shoulder and it spread through her like wildfire, sparking a strange little sound from her mouth. Her legs trembled from the overwhelming heat of it all, and she would have collapsed if Crowley's hips weren't pinning her in place. She'd never felt so weak or so desperate in all her life, and she… she couldn't put any words to why. No words, only a name.

Crowley lingered at her neck, for a moment that seemed to last for far too long and yet somehow not long enough, before she slowly straightened, taking the heat of her mouth from the vulnerable curve of Aziraphale's neck, leaving behind a memory of a kiss that burned like a brand. All Aziraphale could do was stare up at her with wide eyes with her fingers tangled hopelessly in her own skirts - she couldn't even remember how her hands had gotten there, but neither could she convince her fingers to let go.

In stark contrast to her desperation, her confusion, her need, Crowley's smile down at her was soft, warm, _indulgent_. It was a smile that made Aziraphale feel like… like she actually _mattered_ to someone. With sudden clarity, Aziraphale _knew_ that she would not be able to bear parting ways with Crowley once they reached New York. Her life would be empty, if Crowley wasn't in it, even if it was only in some small way.

" _Crowley_ ," she gasped, and the sound shocked her. It was hoarse, and her throat was tight, like she was sick. She felt fever-hot too, but she knew it was no sickness. Only Crowley.

Crowley's smile turned sharp, turned… turned _hungry_ , and her eyes went dark. "You wanted to know why I came to dinner tonight?" Her voice hoarse too, like Aziraphale's, only darker, smokier. Aziraphale wanted to wrap herself in it. "Isn't it obvious, angel?" she asked as if she wasn't expecting an answer. Which was good because Aziraphale had none. She had no words at all.

Crowley leaned in again, this time to brush her lips against Aziraphale's ear instead of her neck, but the contact still sent a paralyzing tremor down Aziraphale's spine. Crowley answered her own question with a warm whisper that set Aziraphale on fire: "I came for you, angel."

The kiss that followed Crowley's confession was a soft, gentle pressure to Aziraphale's cheek, but it made Aziraphale feel like a volcano, like the surface of the sun, and the throbbing between her legs was so dreadful now that it _ached_. Crowley could alleviate it, Aziraphale knew she could, but she couldn't speak, couldn't move, she was paralyzed by her heat, by her unfamiliar need.

She was helpless to stop Crowley stepping away, taking the heat of her body, the comfort of her touch.

"Please," Aziraphale whimpered, her hands tightening in her skirts so fiercely that it hurt her fingers. She wanted Crowley to come back against her, she _needed_ her to come back. Aziraphale just... _needed_ her.

But Crowley just kept moving away, walking backwards towards the door back to the deck, smiling that hungry smile. "Good night, angel," she murmured, her voice carrying easily down the long hallway.

And then she was gone, disappearing out the door into the night beyond.

Aziraphale couldn't have said how long she stood there with that awful throbbing between her legs, trying to pull together enough strength to turn and let herself into their suites. When she finally made it through the door, she was surprised to find the sitting room empty, that no one was up waiting for her, demanding to know where she'd been. Surprised, but so very grateful. Especially because her legs were still weak, even though that throbbing was slowly fading, and her steps were unsteady, and she had to rely heavily on the wall to get to her room. All the while, her heart pounded out a rhythm against her ribcage fit to wake the dead, and Aziraphale was terrified that it would wake Gabriel. Or worse, her mother. But no one came running, and she finally slipped into her bedroom, alone and unobserved.

The trembling in her fingers made undressing a greater task than it had ever been, and by the time Aziraphale collapsed into the seat at her vanity to brush out her hair, she was exhausted. She couldn't even bring herself to put away her pins as she pulled them from her hair, just left them scattered across the wood for the morning. It wasn't until she raised her brush though that she noticed them: two clear lipstick prints stark red against her pale skin, one on her neck and the other on her cheek.

Crowley had marked her. Like a cattle brand. And Aziraphale felt _owned_.

Heat flooded her like the incoming tide, burning under her skin, reigniting that wicked throb between her thighs. Her hairbrush fell from numb fingers and her reflection turned red, and Aziraphale fled from the sight of it. She dove into bed and pulled the covers over her head, pressing her thighs together so hard it hurt, wishing the throbbing would stop. Wishing that Crowley was there to make it stop.

That night, Aziraphale dreamed that the sun was an amorphous mare that rode down from the sky to the deck of the Titanic. It shone so golden-bright that she couldn't even look at it as she mounted it, yet the red fire of its mane was somehow so very clear when Aziraphale tangled her fingers in it. The wavy red strands were all that kept her on the gentle beast's back as it leapt back into the sky, galloping full tilt between her legs on the waves and against the wind. The fire of it burned where she was most vulnerable, but the thought of diving into the sea to relieve the ache was even more unbearable than the possibility that it might burn her alive.


	7. Breakfast is a Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hm. Yes, I would imagine dealing with steerage would be rather exhausting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up on Saturday, remembered that I needed to update, and then forget. A cycle which repeated every few hours for about 33 hours until now, three hours until Monday starts (for me anyway). lol So anyway, my bad and here you go. lol

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part One)**

A lingering fatigue and an inability to sleep past the break of dawn drove Aziraphale to ask her maid for breakfast alone in their promenade. Sitting in the warm sunlight with a book was a peace she hadn't known she'd been missing - she was enjoying Crowley's attentions, her affections, but their intensity wore Aziraphale ragged. She wasn't used to feeling much of anything, and being the apparent center of Crowley's focus was like stepping from a pitch-black room into midday sunlight: welcomed and wanted but far too much too quickly.

For now, it was enough that Crowley's marks were still staining her skin, the red smeared after a night of restless sleep, worked into Aziraphale's skin like rouge. She just needed this small respite from the rest of the world to try to regain any semblance she had of control.

"Good morning, Aziraphale."

All of the peace evaporated, the warmth of the sunlight and the solitude turning cold on her skin like a winter afternoon. She carefully closed her book and set it far aside, to assure Gabriel that all of her attention would be on him, as he liked it.

"Good morning, Gabriel."

He sat across from her and snapped open a newspaper with such sharp efficiency that it made her tense. Anathema fluttered in after him with an apologetic look towards Aziraphale as she quickly set a place for him and made his coffee. A familiar shame burned Aziraphale's cheeks, that she was always forced to put aside her reading for Gabriel, only to be ignored by him as he did his own. She picked up her teacup, just to have something in her hands, and tried to let the heat of the porcelain warm her again.

"I'd expected you to come to me last night." His voice was cheerful, polite, but it always was. It was a predator's camouflage, hiding the danger underneath.

"I was rather tired," Aziraphale murmured, staring deep into her tea, regretting her decision to dine alone. If she had just forced herself to the dining room, she would have had to endure a table full of women who did nothing but ignore her, but even that would have been preferable to this conversation with Gabriel. Every muscle was slowly tensing, and she wanted nothing more than to flee. To fly away.

"Hm. Yes, I would imagine dealing with steerage would be rather exhausting."

Aziraphale froze. There was no question or speculation to his statement, only knowledge. But how-? Oh, of course.

"I was quite safe," Aziraphale said, fighting to keep her voice even, calm. "You didn't need to have Sandalphon follow me."

Gabriel's paper lowered slowly, and Aziraphale felt dread suffuse her. She swallowed and set her tea down, out of the way. So she was free to run if she needed to, even though there was nowhere to go - Gabriel was not only closer to the door, but he was faster than her. If he came after her, she would be helpless.

"My concern was not for your safety but my reputation, Aziraphale," Gabriel said, the false cheer of his voice like ice in Aziraphale's veins. "You will not involve yourself with third class again, do you understand me?"

Aziraphale swallowed hard. She should have expected this - that she would have fun for the first time in… in memory, and then to be banned from it. She'd learned the hard way, long ago, never to show how much she liked a book, or else it would be taken from her. She'd hoped, at first, that Gabriel was different, but he'd only proved to be worse, going so far as to remove anything she showed any interest in.

"But Lady-" Oh dear, what was Crowley's name? "But Lady Ashtoreth-"

Gabriel snapped his paper again and Aziraphale flinched in surprise, falling silent. "Lady Ashtoreth is not my wife," he said firmly. "You are."

"But I'm not your wife," Aziraphale said, confused, wondering if Gabriel and her mother had signed papers without ever telling her. Like how they'd set up this engagement. She could only pray they hadn’t. "I'm your fiancée."

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence, and Aziraphale got the distinct feeling that she wasn't looking at Gabriel, but that she was looking off the edge of a cliff.

A loud crash made her start, and it took a moment to realize that it had been caused by the table between them, and all the china on it, having been sent flying. Gabriel was suddenly so close to her face that he filled her vision, his hands pinning her wrists to the arms of her wicker chair so tightly that it felt like her bones were being crushed.

"You are my wife."

It would have been less terrifying if his face had contorted with his rage when he snarled his claim. But he never stopped smiling the smile that haunted Aziraphale's nightmares, and it made her feel like prey waiting to be eaten alive.

Gabriel rocked towards her suddenly and Aziraphale flinched away, the movement bringing awareness to the fact that she was positively trembling from head to toe. Although Gabriel had never struck her, Aziraphale was not fool enough to believe that that would last. It was only a question of 'when'.

"Your mother gave you to me to be my wife, and you will obey me as such," he said, his fingers tightening until there was nothing in Aziraphale's world except Gabriel's face and the pain in her wrists. "You have been bought and paid for, and your status as my wife is set in stone, with or without legal registration. So you will honour and respect me as a wife is required to. Is that understood?"

Aziraphale couldn't be sure if she nodded, or if she spoke her assent, but Gabriel said "Good," with a firm nod, and then he was gone.

"Are you alright, Miss Aziraphale?"

Anathema's voice came to her as if she were hearing it through water. Aziraphale blinked and found Anathema standing over her, her face panicked and her hands fluttering about helplessly, as if unsure where Aziraphale was hurt. Aziraphale wasn't sure where she was hurt either - she felt so numb, empty. It was as if she'd been visited not by her fiancé, but a demon, and it had sucked all her hope from her. "Miss Aziraphale?"

"I- I'm s-sorry, Anathema," Aziraphale stuttered, her teeth chattering as if she'd been stuck out in the cold overnight, which she'd had too much experience with. "I d-didn't see you." She raised her hands to assure her friend and found them shaking so hard that she could barely feel them. "W-we had a l-l-little acc-accident. I can- I can help you-"

Aziraphale reached for the shards of porcelain on the ground and the world shifted. It was only Anathema's gasp and gentle hands on her shoulders that made her realize she'd fallen from her chair, collapsed to the floor. Her face felt wet and when she touched her cheeks and pulled her fingers back, she found them glistening.

"You're alright, Miss," Anathema murmured, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders and pulling her into a hug.

It wasn't appropriate, but they had left that long behind them. She'd risked her job to hug Aziraphale her first day, after Anathema had witnessed Aziraphale's mother lecturing her. Aziraphale couldn't remember what, only that the hug had shocked her, the kind touch not unwelcome, but unfamiliar. But needed. So very needed. It felt like the only kindness Aziraphale had ever had in her life. She pressed her face to Anathema's shoulder and let the tears fall, but she couldn't bear to make a sound.

A gentle hand stroked her back through it, and Anathema never once complained. "It's okay, Miss," Anathema whispered. "It's all alright."


	8. This Isn't the Negotiating Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You will not socialize with that woman again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about you guys, but the only thing this quarantine thing has changed for me is that I get to work from home now and also I get to experience the great concern that I'll run out of toilet paper before the stores recover from all the idiots panic buying out the essentials.
> 
> I bet canon Aziraphale and Crowley never had to worry about running out of toilet paper. Oh to be an ageless entity without the need to perform bodily functions...

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Two)**

The confrontation with Gabriel had drained all of Aziraphale's enthusiasm for her tour with the carpenter, Mr Pulsifer, but she was honour-bound to attend. Still, the return of her fatigue, though caused by something a great deal less pleasant than a night dancing, left her lethargic, leaning against the bedpost with her eyes closed as Anathema laced her into her corset. Still, she was on edge, part of her on high alert, waiting for her mother's ambush. She wanted Gabriel's lecture to have been the last of it, but she knew it wasn't. She hoped without hoping, even as she prepared for her tongue-lashing.

Michael burst into Aziraphale's room like a storm, dismissing Aziraphale's maid with a sharp demand for tea, a flimsy pretense that was shredded a moment later when she locked the door after Anathema's retreating steps. Aziraphale didn't bother trying to hide or flee - her time was much better spent readjusting her stance and getting a better grip on the bedpost. Sure enough, her mother took up the abandoned laces of Aziraphale's corset and began yanking at them, as if she could squeeze all the impurities out of her daughter if she just laced her into her corset tightly enough.

"You will not socialize with that woman again," her mother said, her voice solid with her iron will.

It felt like Aziraphale had spent the last day free from her cage for the first time in her life, but Gabriel and her mother were forcing her back inside, and she could see the door closing on her. It filled her with despair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, gathering the strength she needed to try to convince her mother to take back her demand.

"Mother-" A particularly harsh yank on her corset strings forced the air from her lungs, and it was almost as if she could feel her ribs being compressed, forced inwards to pierce her lungs. "Lady Ashtoreth has been very kind to me. She's been-" she paused, wondering if wondering if what she was about to say was going to make her mother more or less likely to enforce their separation, "a friend." It was risky, claiming any sort of affection for Crowley to her mother - would she deny Aziraphale solely on the basis that Crowley was someone she had chosen for herself?

" _Lady_ ," Michael sneered, "Ashtoreth is a shame to her family name, fraternizing with steerage, and I will not tolerate such disrespect and disgrace from my own daughter." Her voice was cold, and Aziraphale felt like she was curling into herself to get away from it. "I've already dealt with enough from you. I had to leave my home and everyone I knew just to get you a husband. The shame!" she hissed.

Aziraphale lowered her flushed face, closing her eyes as if it would help to block out the sound. "I never wanted a husband," Aziraphale whispered, and she knew as soon as she'd spoken that it had been a mistake.

Her mother's lacquered nails cut into the bare skin of her arm when she whirled Aziraphale around and gripped her chin, forcing them face to face.

"Are you trying to sabotage all the work I did to get this engagement?" Michael asked furiously, her eyes almost glowing in her anger.

Nausea was hollowing out Aziraphale's stomach as she tried to shake her head, but her mother's nails dug into her jaw and she stopped. "No, mother," she whispered, unable to meet her mother's eyes. It felt like her own were blurring with her tears, and her chest felt dreadfully empty.

Michael was silent for too long, and then she let go of Aziraphale's jaw. "If your actions endanger your marriage to Gabriel, you will no longer be welcome in my home. I will disown you, and you will be free to join your _friend_ in steerage then. Am I understood?"

Aziraphale wanted to throw up. She'd been denied so much in life, but she'd never been denied a home. She'd never been denied her mother. The mere concept shook her to her core, to lose her family. Because if her mother disowned her, then she would tell the rest of the family, and none of them had ever liked Aziraphale. They would jump at the chance to forget her entire existence.

"Am I understood, Aziraphale?" Michael asked lowly, a threat to her voice like there never really had been before.

It was difficult to swallow the lump in her throat, to keep the tears in her eyelashes from falling, but Aziraphale managed. Barely. "Yes, mother," she whispered.

Michael nodded once, perfunctorily, and turned Aziraphale back around to finish lacing her corset. The ache of it tightening around her came from a distant place, from the other side of the doorless walls of her cage.


	9. Breaking to Keep from Bending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't- I can't do this anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the posting delay folks - even though we're all in quarantine, I'm working from home _and_ I've been sleeping on the couch for unrelated reasons, and the whole situation has launched my spoons into the æther. For every one of you who has been able to create during this time, my envy. Either way, I'm going to be spacing out posting to bi(heh)-monthly so sry & thx 3 ur patience uwu

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Three)**

Everything about her morning left Aziraphale feeling sick and empty, and hopeless about her future, but she was a proper English lady, and she had spent her entire public life pretending nothing was wrong. It was all-too-easy to let Mr Pulsifer take her arm and guide her about the ship, to play the attentive guest. Well, she didn't quite have to quite fake her interest - she greatly enjoyed every opportunity she received to learn something new and this was her first journey on a ship. And the carpenter himself wasn't exactly unpleasant company either. On the contrary, he was a very kind, very polite, if a bit nervous, man, and he either found her interesting, or he was very good at feigning his own interest.

It almost made her forget for a moment the darkness in her chest, the knowledge that she would never again be able to see Crowley.

"Pardon, Mr Pulsifer," Aziraphale said, and Mr Pulsifer stopped and politely gave her his attention, "but with the number of lifeboats that seem to be on deck multiplied by their capacity, there doesn't seem to be enough for every soul on board."

Mr Pulsifer blinked, looking distinctly but unexpectedly impressed. "Very astute, Miss Aziraphale," he said kindly. Unused to compliments, Aziraphale's face heated, but at least she could blame the wind for the pink in her cheeks. "You're quite right, there's only enough for about half. Unfortunately," he said, his brow furrowing with a displeased frown, "my safety concerns were deemed to be worth less than the view, and my request for the necessary amount of lifeboats to accommodate all of her passengers was overruled."

He turned towards the lifeboats, and Aziraphale heard him mutter mockingly under his breath, as if he hadn't meant for her to hear him, "The bloody view," before whacking the nearest lifeboat several times with his walking stick and a distinct air of annoyance.

It surprised a laugh out of her, and Mr Pulsifer jerked back around to face her, his shoulders raised and his cheeks pink. No, he definitely hadn't meant for her to hear him. Aziraphale politely looked elsewhere as Mr Pulsifer awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Well, more to see!" he said a little too loudly, pointing his walking stick towards the bow. "Forward and aft!" And off he went, his longer legs putting a distance between them immediately.

"They're already a waste of space," Michael said loftily from behind Aziraphale, and Aziraphale turned to let her mother and fiancé walk by, lowering her eyes so she wouldn't have to meet theirs and risk them saying something unpleasant...

"Lifeboats on an unsinkable ship. Ridiculous," Gabriel agreed, his voice as close to a sneer as it got in public.

The pair of them passed by Aziraphale without acknowledging her, and the pain in her chest turned sharp. She could already see her life stretching out ahead of her, every moment sending her deeper into the dark chasm of a loveless marriage, the bright red seaweed of safety and freedom getting further and further away from her reaching hands.

Something shifted out of the corner of her eye, and Aziraphale blinked, surprised to find that brilliant red standing in front of her. Crowley's eyes almost glowed golden in the morning light, and somehow seeing her friend after she'd been banned from doing so hurt more than just picturing a life without her had. Crowley had even found a man's top hat and topcoat somewhere, both just as black as all her clothes were - it was making Aziraphale suspect that Crowley's wardrobe had never heard of colours.

"Crow-" Aziraphale's gasp was cut short by a finger pressed to her lips, Crowley shushing her as she looked towards where Aziraphale's family had gone. Gabriel and Michael were still in sight but they weren't looking for her, apparently oblivious to Aziraphale having fallen behind. Fingers curled in hers and Aziraphale grasped back reflexively, and she found herself being pulled quickly over the deck and through the door just across from them.

The room she found herself in was warm from the sun, dotted with exercise equipment, but empty of practitioners. Perfect for a rendezvous, and just as perfect for the conversation she didn't want to have. She really must have upset God - three conversations in one day that she would have rather done anything else but have.

Aziraphale collapsed against the wall, and Crowley stepped into her space, close, teasingly close, but not touching, and it hurt. Everything hurt.

"Good morning, angel," Crowley whispered, her voice even warmer than the room. But it no longer filled Aziraphale with warmth, only that sick feeling of loss. She swallowed and looked down, her eyes burning even when she closed them. There was a pause, and then Crowley took her other hand, and Aziraphale didn't have the strength to pull away. "Angel?"

"I can't-" Her throat was so tight that it hurt to swallow, but Aziraphale forced the words out anyway. "I can't do this anymore."

She could practically feel Crowley processing her words before taking a step back, the fingers cupping Aziraphale's loosening.

It hurt. Everything about this hurt. Aziraphale had tasted freedom, and then it slipped from her fingers. Or rather, it was pulled from them.

"Did I go too far last night?" Crowley asked slowly. "Was I too intense?"

Aziraphale started to nod, because Crowley _had_ been intense - more so than ever before, but it hadn't been frightening - and then she changed mid-nod to shaking her head, because Crowley's intensity had nothing to do with why Aziraphale was forcing them apart. If anything, the feelings Crowley had elicited in Aziraphale the night before was a reason to stay.

"No," Aziraphale forced herself to say through her tight throat, with another shake of her head. "It wasn't anything you did. It was-" _'my fault,'_ she couldn't say. She couldn't even bring herself to look at Crowley's shoes and she closed her eyes, sending something hot and wet sliding down her cheek. "I'm engaged, Crowley. I can't do this anymore. I need this marriage."

Crowley didn't say anything for a long moment, and Aziraphale realized Crowley's thumbs were stroking the back of Aziraphale's hands, so gently that it made her want to sob. They swept wide, just under the hem of her sleeve, with just enough pressure to set off a dull throb of pain that made her flinch. Crowley paused, and Aziraphale couldn't help the way her shoulders raised to her ears as Crowley raised Aziraphale's hands, all-too-aware of the bruising that Crowley was about to find. It was the first bruise Gabriel had ever put on her skin, but she knew it wouldn't be the last. This morning was the opening of the floodgates, and it was only going to get worse across the years.

"Do you _want_ this marriage, angel?" Crowley asked softly, her voice tense, but Aziraphale knew it wasn't at her. "Or do you _need_ it?"

That lump was back in Aziraphale's throat and she swallowed several times to clear it, to speak. "I need this marriage," she repeated, her voice cracking. She didn't want it. She didn't want it at all. She'd just wanted a comfortable life with her books, and she wanted this friendship with Crowley, and it was precisely because she'd dared to want that she couldn't have.

"Oh, angel," Crowley whispered.

She sounded so sad that it broke Aziraphale's heart, cracked something deep in her chest, and a single sob shook her. "I'm sorry," Aziraphale gasped, her face wet with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Shhhh," Crowley hushed, letting go of Aziraphale's hands and wrapping her arms around her shoulders, trapping Aziraphale's hands between them. "Hush now, angel, it's alright." Her voice was soft against Aziraphale's hair, and her gentle assurances only made the pain in Aziraphale's chest sharpen. "You don't have to apologize. Not to me. I've been where you are, remember?"

"I'm sorry I'm not stronger," Aziraphale croaked, burying her face in Crowley's shoulder, trying to stop the tears. A hand stroked over her head, petting her hair, careful not to disturb the coif. it was more gentle and more caring than she deserved.

Sometimes, instead of wings, Aziraphale wondered what it would be like to stop living. She wondered if it would be easier.

"Nah, you're stronger than me," Crowley said, faux cheer in her voice. "I was a coward, running away."

"I don't think it's cowardly." No, Aziraphale was the coward, clinging to her life and her mother and her fiancé, waiting like a starving dog for scraps of affection, proof that she was loved.

"Oh, I definitely am," Crowley said, so unexpectedly self-assured in her statement that it curbed the downward spiral of Aziraphale's grief of a friendship lost. "I should have just let the marriage go through and then poisoned his dinner so I could inherit his wealth."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale gasped in shock, jerking out of Crowley's embrace. A split second later, she further surprised herself by hiccuping a laugh. Crowley's eyes were sad, but her lips were curled in that familiar, mischievous way of hers. "You're ridiculous," Aziraphale admonished softly with a small shake of her head.

"Might be," Crowley acquiesced with a shrug of her shoulders. "But I'm right. And I got you to stop crying."

Aziraphale blinked, and realized she had indeed stopped crying, though her eyes ached and her face was wet. "So you did." She reached up to wipe her tears away, but Crowley beat her to it, cupping her face thumbs sweeping under her eyes to wipe away the moisture. Aziraphale looked up and time seemed like it stopped when she saw how close Crowley was. How golden her gaze was, how it sparkled like the sun. And just like the sun, it was blinding.

A shadow covered the sun, just for a moment - a blink, and Crowley's gaze shifted, refocusing on Aziraphale's eyes. Just like the sun, it hurt to look at: the knowledge that she would never again be allowed to see Crowley, that she was pushing Crowley away to spare them both, and Aziraphale had to close her eyes to escape whatever she might face in Crowley's. Despite her cowardice, she was rewarded, a soft kiss pressed first to one eye, then the other.

Even after Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale still couldn't look at her. Or rather, she _especially_ couldn't look at her now, not after what she had done, what she was doing, and the kindness Crowley was still bestowing on her.

"Thank you, angel," Crowley said, her voice still that warm, affectionate tone that made Aziraphale feel just as warm inside. Only now it hurt, knowing that she didn't deserve it. "No matter what, I'm glad to have met you."

Aziraphale felt like crying again but she forced herself to smile and nod because she felt the same, even if she couldn't force her throat to work to say as much. She still couldn't even open her eyes to look at her.

"Goodbye, angel," Crowley whispered. She pressed one last kiss, slow and lingering, to Aziraphale's forehead. And then she was gone, the door clicking quietly after her.

The silence of the exercise room after Crowley's departure was oppressive, pushing down on Aziraphale like a great weight. She used it to bury Crowley in her heart, a treasure chest sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and then carefully adjusted her clothes, pulling everything into place like armour. But when she tried to take a step towards the door, her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor. She sat there for a moment, in stunned, numb silence, and then the grief welled up in her like a tidal wave and she was lost.


	10. Show Me How to Use My Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I could live in a cage if I could only fly this once."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops. Totally (accidentally) lied about updating in two weeks. Alas, the Backstreet Boys Reunion Tour hasn't been very conducive to ficcing productivity for me… :/

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Four)**

It felt odd to be sitting amongst the rest of first class, taking dinner as if nothing had changed. Outwardly, nothing had. Everything about the world around her was exactly the same. Every woman around her was dressed and jeweled in only the most expensive of fabrics and priceless of gems, every woman floated through the room like perfumed clouds. It was like every other dinner she'd taken on the Titanic in the last four days, and like every gala she'd ever been forced to attend back home. Everything was exactly the same, except Aziraphale herself.

Crowley had changed her, since the moment they met. With the first exchange of words, Aziraphale had become someone else, a version of herself she never would have achieved alone in her cage. But Crowley had spoken to her, engaged her, _looked_ at her. Crowley had dared to touch her, in a way even Gabriel did not yet dare, and Aziraphale had _welcomed_ it, as she never would Gabriel. From the moment Crowley had taken her gloved hand, she'd ignited something in Aziraphale that even Aziraphale hadn't known existed.

But Crowley wasn't here now. She never would be again. There was no one to feed the pyre she'd set burning in Aziraphale, and the fire was burning out, turning to ash. All that sat in its place was a shell, an empty porcelain doll, covered in so many minuscule cracks that a harsh breath would shatter it.

Aziraphale felt so nauseous that she could barely eat, and the little she managed to force between her lips she couldn't even taste. Even she wouldn't have been able to say how much she had, but whatever amount, it sat heavily in her belly like stones, which only worsened her mood - food had always been a comfort to her in times of stress, but now even that was worthless.

She felt like she was suffocating.

The main course hadn't even been served yet, but Aziraphale could no longer stay. For once, she wasn't ashamed of her apparent invisibility at dinners such as this, but grateful for it. It allowed her to slip away unnoticed, out onto Titanic's deck in hopes that the fresh dusk air would help her breathe better. And it did. A little.

Much like the morning before, when she'd met Crowley the second time, Aziraphale wandered without purpose and without direction. The decks were empty with everyone at dinner, and she was grateful for the solitude, though it made it difficult to empty her mind. She couldn't tear her thoughts from Crowley, from how little they knew each other - how little _time_ they'd known each other, but nor could she forget the way Crowley looked at her, the way she touched her, the way she made her _feel_. And like a parasite, Aziraphale could not forget the absolute certainty she felt in knowing that there would not be another in her life who looked at her like Crowley did. Gabriel never had and never would, and if Aziraphale married him, then she would never have the chance to know true affection, true love.

The glimmer of fire out of the corner of her eye caught and pulled Aziraphale's attention. She looked up her and her very soul was struck, not just by the fact that her feet (or the devil himself) had led her to the one place Crowley seemed to be, but by the vision Crowley made, still shrouded in her overcoat and leaning against the bow's railing and into the wind. The setting sun set her wind-blown hair aflame, and against the backdrop of the golden ocean, she looked like a painting. Even more so than she had the morning before.

For the first time in her life, the well-kept path of Aziraphale's life, paved by every decision that had ever been made for her (without her), forked. The new path was no better than a forest path, overgrown with every year where she'd failed to take control of her own future. In the distance, they connected again, at the point where Titanic reached America, but here and now, it forked. No matter what, she would have to return to her cage, but for the first time, she had an opportunity to stretch her wings. More than opportunity though, she had the _desire_. She only hoped it wasn't too late to have a taste of what she wanted but would never be able to keep.

With every step she took, down that overgrown path and towards Crowley, the harder Aziraphale's heart started to beat. She felt shaky and her hands sweaty, and she wiped them nervously on her skirts. She was afraid. She was absolutely terrified. She'd been denied everything she ever wanted, would now be the same? Or would Crowley break the pattern Aziraphale's entire life had established? There was certainly precedence, but that didn't mean that it would hold. But she wanted it to. She wanted it so bad that it hurt.

Afraid to get too close, Aziraphale stopped well outside arms length of Crowley, who still hadn't noticed her. Which, considering the amount of wind blowing at her from over the bow, was understandable, but it made things harder. There was still time to run. Crowley didn't know she was standing there. But if Aziraphale didn't gather her courage now, she would regret it until her death.

"Crowley?" Her voice was weak, unsure, just like she was, but it still must have been enough because Crowley whipped around to stare at her with wide eyes.

"Aziraphale," she said, and Aziraphale couldn't read any emotion in her voice. Or in her expression, not with the sun behind her the way it was.

Courage wavering, Aziraphale dropped her gaze to her hands, her fingers twisting themselves into painful knots around one another. Still, she forced herself to push on, to push her hope into the light. "I'm terrified," she confessed to her hands, her voice hoarse. "If I get caught, if Gabriel breaks our engagement, my mother will disown me. She'll throw me out. I don't know what I'll do, where I can go, if she does." Aziraphale had to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep, if shaky, breath to steel her nerves.

"I know it's… it's selfish, to ask this of you, but I.." Aziraphale was positively trembling in fear of rejection, and when she swallowed, it was painfully forced. "I thought I could survive this marriage, before I met you. Now… I'm not sure I will. But I think I could be strong enough if only I could have the memory of you. Of you and- and me. I think I could live in a cage if I could only fly this once."

Aziraphale's heart was a war drum in her chest, pounding so hard that she felt ill with it. She'd never been so nervous in all her life, not even when she'd met Gabriel for the first time. But perhaps that was because she'd stopped feeling much of anything by then, unless it was for a book. In the last two days alone, day and a half at best, really, Crowley had already shown Aziraphale that there could be more to life than loneliness and disappointment. That people, that _a person_ could incite within her feelings only her most titillating novels had previously accomplished.

She slowly became aware that time had passed, _was_ passing, and Crowley still hadn't spoken. When no response continued to be forthcoming, Aziraphale bravely flicked her eyes up, trying to glimpse Crowley's expression without lifting her head, but Crowley's expression was unchanged from the last time Aziraphale had seen it. It was still absent identifiable emotion and her eyes, made dark by virtue of the sun at her back, were still wide.

Bowing her head, feeling sick with shame and rejection and eyes prickling with tears she refused to shed again, at least not outside the safety of her room, Aziraphale forced an apology through shock-numb lips. "I shouldn't have come back," she mumbled, unable to find the energy to enunciate the way she'd been taught. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Feeling weak, Aziraphale's curtsy was less than elegant, and she nearly fell when she turned to hurry away as fast as her feet could carry her. She barely had time to register the fingers curing around hers before she was tugged back around in a dizzying whirl. Crowley's free hand caught her shoulder, stopping and steadying her, and Aziraphale stared up at her in surprise.

"I won't lie, it probably is a little selfish-" Crowley said, and Aziraphale flinched back in hurt surprise. Or she would have if Crowley's thumb hadn't slipped under her jaw to hold her in place. " _But_ ," Crowley continued sternly with a pointed look that somehow managed to reassure Aziraphale, calm her, if only a little, "for once in your life, you _need_ to be selfish. For once in your life, angel, you should take what you want without waiting for permission. And I, for one, am very happy to enable your selfishness."

Aziraphale stared up at her for a long, uncomprehending moment. "I don't- I don't understand," she stuttered. She didn't understand why she wasn't being pushed away right now, why her rejection wasn't being repaid with rejection now.

Crowley blinked, and then she smiled. "Don't you get it, angel? I _like_ you."

It was Aziraphale's turn to blink. "You… You do?"

This time Crowley laughed, the sound soft and warm, comforting in a way that no other laugh at Aziraphale ever had been. "'Course I do. You're smart and brave and, quite frankly, adorable, besides being downright gorgeous. An angel and a muse. What's not to like?"

"Oh, well, that's-" Aziraphale flushed and blustered and really didn't have any words at all. She did so wish Crowley would stop complimenting her because she didn't know what to do with them, but at the same time, Aziraphale hoped she wouldn't stop because they made her feel… _important_.

"Do you like me?" Crowley asked, her smile and her tone teasing.

The heat in Aziraphale's face was spreading under her clothes, making her skin prickle uncomfortably.

"Of course I do," Aziraphale said, though she couldn't meet Crowley's gaze when she said it. She meant it, of course she did, but to say it while looking directly into Crowley's eyes was far too… intimate.

"Any particular reason?" Crowley asked. Aziraphale was grateful that there was no insult in her tone, only affectionate fun.

"You… you treat me like… like a person," Aziraphale said, her eyes fixed somewhere around Crowley's shoulder, the tips of her ears tingling.

"Is that all it takes these days?" Crowley said, a laugh in her voice.

"Y-you're r-rather p-p-pretty t-too," Aziraphale stuttered. Her face felt like it was on fire. Giving compliments was as strange to her as receiving them, especially when the one she was giving them to was someone who had just confessed to liking her.

"Oh well, that's alright then." Crowley said it so seriously that Aziraphale _had_ to look up to take in her expression, but when she did, she found Crowley barely holding back a laugh. Aziraphale gave Crowley a tentative smile and the hand at her cheek finally released her, sliding down her neck, over her shoulder, and down her arm to her hand.

"Now, I believe you said something about flying," Crowley said, her voice light as if Aziraphale weren't risking everything just to be with her. But Aziraphale knew that Crowley understood, understood her and her predicament, and the ease of Crowley's humour helped lift her tumultuous heart. "Do you trust me?"

She shouldn't. She'd known Crowley only a few days, and there were people she'd known her whole life that she still couldn't trust, but none of them had ever treated her like Crowley did.

"Yes."

Crowley's grin got brighter and the corners of her eyes crinkled, and Aziraphale felt… _happy_ , just to see Crowley happy. That was new too. She was so used to simply being relieved when her mother or Gabriel were in a good mood, but she'd never been happy to see them happy.

"Then close your eyes."

Aziraphale looked at her, feeling only a tiny bit suspicious and a great deal electrified with the thrill of the unknown, with placing her trust and her well-being willingly into someone else's hands. Crowley's grin sharpened, and her eyebrows did a sort of wiggle, and Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. She took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes.

The darkness of her closed eyelids was made lighter by the setting sun, but it did nothing to lessen the exhilaration that came with her willing vulnerability. It was only heightened by the rushing wind blowing past her, by Crowley's fingers curling around her own, pulling her forward, closer to the bow's railing in small, halting steps.

"C'mon, angel, up to the railing," Crowley said from just in front of her. She guided Aziraphale's hands to the bar as she moved out of the way, removing the shield of her body from between Aziraphale and the wind.

The Atlantic gusts threaded easily even through the wool of Aziraphale's clothes, but the heat of Crowley stepping up behind her more than made up for it. The chill all but evaporated when Crowley curled fingers around Aziraphale's waist, in the dip at the bottom of her ribs, and though the touch was as properly placed as in any dance, the fact that it was Crowley touching her so proprietarily, so familiarly, made Aziraphale feel like she was on fire. The skin underneath the layers of clothes below Crowley's hands was suddenly too sensitive, every shift of Crowley's touch sending a thrill between Aziraphale's thighs.

"Step up onto the railing," Crowley said, so close to Aziraphale's ear that Crowley's lips grazed it and made Aziraphale's earring dance.

Aziraphale couldn't help but suck in a breath through her teeth, an ache settling between her legs and at the tips of her breasts. The need to be touched roared through her, and she had to swallow around the plea on her tongue. Crowley's hands were still at her waist, exerting pressure in a gentle reminder.

"Come on," Crowley said, her fingers tightening minutely. "It's safe, I promise."

Oh, that wasn't the problem at all, but Aziraphale could hardly tell her that. Still, she took another deep breath to fortify herself as she tightened her grip on the railing. She lifted her foot, searching for the lower rung before it slid under the heel of her boot, and she pulled herself up. It left her a little off balance, almost like she was about to tip over the edge, and she swung out her hand for the rigging she knew she'd seen before she closed her eyes. It was only when the rope was firmly in her hand did she pull herself up the rest of the way.

With her eyes closed, it was faintly terrifying, to feel the wind blowing so fiercely into her face, to feel the railing pushing into the skin right above her knee. Aziraphale felt one split second of vertigo away from plunging into the ocean.

The rope in her hand wavered and Aziraphale held on all the tighter, but a moment later, Crowley's warmth settled in at her back. "You haven't peeked, right?"

Aziraphale shook her head and regretted it immediately when it sent her sense of gravity spinning. "No," she said, though it came out as a bit of a squeak.

Crowley laughed, warm against the side of her face, and Aziraphale risked leaning back into Crowley, just a little bit. Crowley seemed to welcome her weight without protest, and she even wrapped her arms around Aziraphale's shoulders. But then Aziraphale felt fingers attempting to gently pry her own from the rope, and a spasm of fear made Aziraphale tighten her grip.

"Trust me, angel," Crowley said, the wicked siren that she was. Aziraphale felt no better than Odysseus, bewitched by voices of magic and in danger of falling into the sea and the mouths of the beasts waiting below the waves. "Trust me."

The fingers at hers didn't try to remove her hands from their death grip on the rope again. Crowley simply placed her hands over Aziraphale's and waited for her to find her courage. Not that Aziraphale completely managed, but she did manage to work her fingers free, and Crowley hummed against her ear as she took her hands. When she tried to pull Aziraphale's arms open wide, Aziraphale kept flinching, terror and trust making her stomach flip endlessly, but Crowley was very patient with her, until Aziraphale's arms were flung wide. The wind seemed stronger like this, and with only the ship's railing beneath her feet and against her knees, it felt like she was falling through open air.

"Stay just like this, angel," Crowley said, and slowly let her hands fall away from Aziraphale's. It made Aziraphale's stomach drop out and she couldn't help but tremble, feeling suddenly alone, even though Crowley was still pressed against her back. But almost immediately after she let go, Crowley' hands resettled at Aziraphale's waist, steadying her. It made the rhythm of Aziraphale's trembling shift into something softer, warmer. "Now, open your eyes."

For a moment, despite her fear, Aziraphale couldn't bear to open her eyes. She had the terrible feeling that it would… break the moment, the intimacy of being held by Crowley in her own darkness. But Crowley had asked it of her, so she opened her eyes and sucked in an involuntary breath..

"It's no dirigible but… what do you think?"

Aziraphale felt like crying. She hadn't really stepped up very far, but even that little bit changed the lay of the landscape. Or rather, how she saw it. The whole of the ocean spread out before her with nothing man-made to interrupt the view, and with the wind blowing through her clothes and against her face, and her arms spread wide, it really felt like she was flying over the waves with the wings she'd dreamt of her whole life.

"Oh… _Crowley!_ "

Crowley's laugh sounded like Aziraphale's heart felt, too large and bright and just full of an emotion too great to be put into words. The hands at her waist slowly slid inwards across her belly, and the muscles in her stomach quivered at the delicacy of Crowley's touch. Suddenly overcome with the need to get closer to her, Aziraphale closed her arms over Crowley's, interlacing their fingers. Soft lips brushed her cheek and her heart leapt into her throat.

Aziraphale turned her head and to find Crowley's face so close to hers took her breath away. In the dusk glow, her golden eyes were as incandescent as the setting sun, and Aziraphale thought that, if she fell into them, it wouldn't be so bad. Crowley's lips parted, perhaps to say something, and as soon as Aziraphale's eyes fell to them, she couldn't look away. Especially as they began to move closer.

" _Angel…_ "

It was strange, that Aziraphale had never considered that a kiss could be kind, but then again, she'd only before thought about how much she didn't want Gabriel to kiss her. Crowley's mouth was soft against hers, sending warmth all the way down her toes. It seemed to last both an eternity and a heartbeat before Crowley started to pull back.

"No," Aziraphale protested, or at least she thought she did. She tilted her chin up, a silent supplication, trembling in the wrap of Crowley's arms, and Crowley took her mouth again.

One of the hands at her waist curled tighter around her, pulling her more firmly against Crowley's front, but the other slid up the line of buttons of her waistcoat to the delicate skin of her throat. Long fingers cupped her chin, a thumb pressing gently at the hinge of her jaw, encouraging her to part her lips. She breathed in, almost overcome with the intimacy of breathing in the air that Crowley was breathing out.

Aziraphale was wholly unprepared for the barest touch of the tip of Crowley's tongue to the tip of hers, and even after the feelings Crowley had sparked in her the night before, pressed against her suite door, she was wholly unprepared for the frisson it sent through her. She felt electrified, as if she'd stood too close to a lightning bolt, every hair on end, every nerve on fire. Aziraphale whimpered and trembled, and Crowley made a sound against her mouth, her fingers over Aziraphale's belly curling and her fingernails scraping over the rough fabric of Aziraphale's waistcoat.

Then Crowley licked delicately into her mouth and Aziraphale's knees buckled.

The warm, wet slide of Crowley's tongue ignited a throbbing between Aziraphale's thighs so intense that it made her melt from the inside out. Every gentle surge sent a corresponding pulse through Aziraphale, until the tips of her breasts were tingling and she was aching between her legs. It was a deeper ache than the day before, so much so that she felt nearly desperate to press her hand against it to relieve it. More alarming was the sudden wish that Crowley would touch her there instead.

But Crowley's hand was safe and appropriate over Aziraphale's belly, all the while her tongue did wicked things to Aziraphale's mouth and to her sanity. All Aziraphale could do was cling to the arm around her waist as Crowley tasted her at her leisure. She felt like a kite on a string, adrift in the wind of Crowley's affections, even as it was Crowley's affections that kept her grounded.

For all that Aziraphale had dreaded being kissed all her life, she'd never once feared being kissed by Crowley. It was only now, as she was being treated to the intimacy of Crowley's kiss, the eroticism that the gentleness of it evoked, that she realized that what she'd been afraid of had been the lack of romance, of desire. She knew that she would never again be able to be kissed by someone if they didn't kiss her like Crowley was kissing her now. She wasn't sure that she wanted anyone else to ever kiss her again.

Sighing into Crowley's mouth, Aziraphale thought that she wanted to kiss Crowley forever. No matter what happened after this, she could never regret disobeying her mother. Not now that she knew what love could actually feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday this coming week so if you're feeling generous, I'd love a Comment!


	11. Boldly Requesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will you- Will you draw me wearing _only_ this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where Aziraphale Requests Like She's Never Requested Before

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Five)**

Legs still weak from the kiss at the bow, Aziraphale practically stumbled into her suites and nearly took Crowley down with her.

"Careful, angel," Crowley laughed, closing the door and tugging at the connection of their linked arms, pulling Aziraphale upright and against the closed door. She reached up to touch Aziraphale's face and her eyes flicked down to Aziraphale's mouth, and Aziraphale held her breath, waiting for another kiss. "Careful," Crowley said again, and then kissed her nose with a grin before turning away.

By the time Aziraphale peeled herself off the door, Crowley was across the room, studying the small bookcase Aziraphale had been allowed. "Should we be expecting anyone any time soon?" she asked, crouching down in such an unladylike manner that Aziraphale had to stifle a giggle as she moved towards the safe.

"Gabriel won't come back until the cigars and brandy run out and mother always returns after he does," Aziraphale said, twisting the dial to unlock the monstrosity.

She wondered if Gabriel even realized she knew the combination to his ugly little safe or if he just didn't care. Why would he worry that she might steal his money when she had nothing to spend it on? She had never been a danger, never even _felt_ dangerous, but she felt a strange thrill, a sense of wrongdoing, as she pulled _La Pomme d'Eden_ 's box out of the safe. When she opened it, she was struck again by the sight of it, the knowledge of what it must have cost and how much she hated it.

Arms wrapped around her waist from behind and Aziraphale jumped, guiltily snapping the necklace box's lid closed. A chin settled on her shoulder and lips pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Whatcha got there?" Crowley asked, but she seemed more interested in nuzzling the side of Aziraphale's face and making her giggle at the ticklishness of it than what Aziraphale was actually holding. Trying to duck Crowley's mouth while trapped in her arms, Aziraphale opened the box again. After a moment, Crowley paused.

"That-" Crowley started and then stopped, pulling away from Aziraphale's face and arching her head further over Aziraphale's shoulder. "That is fucking hideous."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed, startled by the vulgar expletive.

"Am I wrong?" she asked, reaching out with one of the arms around Aziraphale's waist to lift one side of the necklace's chain with a finger. "Hideous and heavy. Is it your mother's?"

Aziraphale blinked down at the gem. Her mother's? "No. Why would you think it was?"

Crowley snorted. "It doesn't suit you at all." For some reason, the confident way Crowley said it was warming - perhaps it was because, even after only two days, she seemed to know Aziraphale better than either her mother or Gabriel did. "That fiancé of yours bought it for you then, didn't he."

"Mhm," Aziraphale nodded. Crowley tugged at the necklace and Aziraphale pulled it off the velvet and deposited it into Crowley's waiting hand. She stepped forward to set the box down and Crowley let her go, though her touch lingered. When Aziraphale turned back around, Crowley was standing near a sconce, frowning at the jewel.

"It's got an unusual shade for a ruby," Crowley mused, though her vague curiosity was tempered with disgust. It made Aziraphale smile.

"It's a diamond."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up and she gave a low whistle. Aziraphale hadn't been sure that Crowley would know what that meant, how rare a red diamond was, and she was oddly comforted that Crowley did understand the cost that would have gone into making the necklace.

"This isn't a gift then, angel," Crowley said, holding the necklace back out to her, expression cold, but Aziraphale was comforted by the self-assured knowledge that Crowley's ire wasn't directed at her. "That's a collar."

Aziraphale swallowed thickly as she took the necklace back and found herself staring down at the way the gem glittered in the light. Crowley's words weren't a surprise to her, not when she'd thought the same thing herself. She'd known it the moment Gabriel had opened the box. An expensive collar for an expensive bride. It made her chest feel like her heart had been replaced with a gaping chasm.

But she wasn't a bride yet, and Crowley was here with her, filling up the hole in her chest with her larger-than-life presence and her genuine affection. And while she was with Crowley, she knew that there was nothing that was forbidden to her. That Crowley would not only never think to restrict her, but would actively encourage shenanigans and trying that which she'd never been allowed to in the past.

"Will you draw me wearing this?" she asked hesitantly. She glanced up and found Crowley looking surprised, but her expression quickly shifted to pleased.

"'Course, angel."

Aziraphale swallowed, and felt her heart stumble at the words lingering on her tongue. "Will you- Will you draw me wearing _only_ this?"

Crowley stared at her for a long moment before the corners of her lips curled. She took a slow step towards Aziraphale, and didn't break eye contact when she took the necklace back from Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale could hear the shifting of the chain but she couldn't bring herself to lower her eyes either, and a moment later, Crowley raised the two ends of the chain for Aziraphale's approval. She nodded and Crowley settled the gem against Aziraphale's sternum, her knuckles brushing Aziraphale's skin as she clasped the chain closed behind Aziraphale's neck.

Neither the chain nor the pendant were any heavier than when Gabriel had placed the necklace on her two days prior, and yet the weight seemed to sit differently on her, on her heart, pinning her in place. There was no real technical difference between Gabriel putting the jewel on her and Crowley doing it, but the contrast was almost glaring. Unlike Gabriel's proprietary ownership, Crowley seemed… reverent. Like she wasn't marking Aziraphale with her ownership, but rather that Crowley was being graced with being allowed to adorn Aziraphale. Adore her.

When Crowley pulled back, the tips of her fingers traced the line of metal against Aziraphale's skin, making Aziraphale shiver. Crowley's smile turned sharp, almost a baring of her teeth than a proper smile, but Aziraphale felt no fear or trepidation because of it, only a strange and breathtaking thrill. It was a sensation that only became more acute when she realized the gold of Crowley's eyes had become eclipsed by the black of her pupils.

"It would be my absolute pleasure, Aziraphale," Crowley murmured, her voice so warm it made Aziraphale flush with heat.

A moment later, Crowley's gaze flickered down to the necklace, and Aziraphale found herself frozen in place as Crowley dipped down and bestowed a lingering kiss to the gemstone that Aziraphale felt where she ached most, as if Crowley had pressed her lips there.

The thought, and the accompanying need, shocked Aziraphale, and she nearly fell when she jerked backwards, only just catching herself on the dresser. Crowley looked up, eyes twinkling, and Aziraphale felt her skin heating in the face of Crowley's clear amusement.

"I- I have to change," she stuttered, and fled to her room.

"Take your time," Crowley called after her, laughter in her voice.

Aziraphale slammed the door in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did actually research the cost of large red gems before deciding on a diamond cuz apparently red diamonds are rare, more-so than rubies, and all the more expensive for it.
> 
> Short chapter but the next one is longer. It's also That Scene.


	12. Draw Me Like One of Your Renaissance Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's okay to feel insecure, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years since my last update.

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Six)**

When Aziraphale finally emerged from her room, dressed only in a thin robe that had her shivering, the fainting couch had been moved, centered in the room and in front of a single chair. A chair occupied by Crowley, who had divested herself of her overcoat and hung it over the arm of the chair, and who was shaving the end of a stick of charcoal. Skin prickling with heat and embarrassment, Aziraphale lingered at the edge of the room, and she might have continued to do so if Crowley hadn't noticed her.

They stared at one another for a long moment, and then Crowley slowly rose from her chair, setting her tools portfolio aside. It was then that Aziraphale realized that Crowley had not only rolled up her sleeves, but she'd also pushed her suspenders from her shoulders letting her hang down around her thighs. The sight of Crowley so… _undone_ made Aziraphale feel strange. If only because there was something so indescribably _alluring_ about the lackadaisical nature of Crowley's state of dress.

Crowley approached Aziraphale slowly, as if she were a skittish doe about to bolt, hands held out and steps slow, and Aziraphale didn't feel too far from one. She almost had to hold herself still as Crowley slunk up to her and carefully took her hands but it was the way Crowley smiled down at her that finally made Aziraphale feel at ease.

"I like your hair down," Crowley said, reaching up to touch the mass of curls pulled over Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, a bit surprised. Her hair had been mostly a hassle most of her life, too curly and too fluffy to style, and despite her mother's frequent complaints about its lack of malleability, she refused to let Aziraphale get anything more than a trim. Apparently hair as 'short' as Crowley's was only for the lower class.

Crowley hummed, her head tilting as she ran her fingers through Aziraphale's hair. Her black lacquered nails scraped across Aziraphale's scalp and something about the sensation made her shiver and tilt her head into Crowley's hand. A hand which paused, almost cupped at the base of her skull, before Crowley dark eyes slid slowly to Aziraphale. The unexpected response and equally unexpected intense gaze made her face feel warm, and she cleared her throat as she took a tiny step back.

"How- um, how do you want me?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than normal in her embarrassment.

Crowley's mouth opened, and then closed without her making a sound, something she did several times before she finally looked away, looking a little pink in the face as she ruffled the hair at the back of her head.

It took Aziraphale a moment to realize what she'd said, how it could be taken, and then her own face went up in flames. "I mean-" she started and then stopped, no words coming to her rescue. "Oh dear," she mumbled, hiding her face in her hands.

Crowley laughed, a little breathlessly, and curled her fingers around Aziraphale's wrists, tugging on her arms until Aziraphale let them fall. "For now, I want you on the bed- the couch," Crowley corrected hastily, but it was already fuel to the blaze of heat in Aziraphale's cheeks, and it seemed to turn even Crowley's ears pink. Crowley cleared her throat and jerked her head towards the fainting couch. "C'mon," she said, pulling Aziraphale forward.

It wasn't far away, only a few feet, but with every step, Aziraphale's heart seemed to beat harder until she thought it would break out of her chest. Crowley let go of her wrists when they stopped moving, and Aziraphale moved her hands to the lapels of her thin silk robe, but she froze there, her knuckles brushing the heavy weight of the necklace. She looked up at Crowley and Crowley looked down at her, and then Crowley was tracing over the backs of Aziraphale's hands with her fingertips.

"May I?" she asked. There was no expectation in her voice, nor demand, only calm patience, and it helped calm Aziraphale's heart a little. She nodded and forced herself to let go of her lapels, let her hands fall limp to her sides, though every part of her body felt tense as she waited.

Aziraphale didn't realize that she'd squeezed her eyes shut until she felt a kiss against the corner of her mouth and hadn't seen it coming. Her eyes snapped open and she found Crowley smiling softly at her, the corners of her eyes crinkled. This time, Aziraphale was ready when Crowley bent down again, and Aziraphale rose to meet the soft touch of her mouth. Crowley kissed her softly again, chastely again, over and over and over, until Aziraphale was nearly desperate for a more intimate kiss.

She reached out and her hands found Crowley's waist and her fingers fisted in the loose, coarse fabric where it draped away from the minimal swell of her breasts. Aziraphale gave a light tug, and tipped her chin further up, even parted her lips a little in a wordless plea, but Crowley only smiled as she pressed another close-mouthed, soft kiss upon Aziraphale's eager mouth.

Hands pressed to the sides of her ribs and Aziraphale sucked in a breath, but Crowley didn't stop kissing her so Aziraphale forced herself to relax. It didn't take long, and the tip of both index fingers traced a crescent under each breast as they moved towards one another, before following the line of her sternum up the center of her bosom before splitting towards her collarbones. Somewhere along the way, the gentle, calloused point of Crowley's fingers slipped under Aziraphale's gown, and Crowley slowly pushed the silk from Aziraphale's shoulders, replacing it with the warm weight of her palms.

The silk gathered in the crook of Aziraphale's elbows, halted in its fall by her death grip on Crowley's shirt. There was a shift of movement in the body in front of her, the feeling that Crowley was going to step back, but with Aziraphale's knuckles brushing Crowley's tapered waist, her courage suddenly waved.

"Wait."

Crowley stopped immediately, even stepped back into Aziraphale's space, resting her forehead against Aziraphale's. It gave Aziraphale an excuse not to open her eyes, to have Crowley's face that close, and she was more than happy to use it, even if it was an excuse she only told herself.

"What's wrong?" Crowley asked, her voice low. Her fingers laced together at the back of Aziraphale's neck, her thumbs rubbing at the tension in the sides of Aziraphale's neck. "Do you want to stop?"

"I'm…" Aziraphale started and then trailed off, a little afraid to let her insecurities off her tongue. "I'm not like you, Crowley," she finally said.

"Oh?" Crowley sounded more amused than Aziraphale would have liked. Which was zero amusement. "How do you mean? Redhead?"

Aziraphale huffed out a breath despite herself. "No."

"Hmmm… You're not queer?" Crowley guessed, mischievousness back in her voice.

Aziraphale's face felt too hot as she shook her head.

"You're nooot…-"

"I'm not slim like you, Crowley," Aziraphale blurted out, her face burning.

"I had noticed we had different shapes," Crowley said, her voice wry enough that it made Aziraphale wish she'd gone up in flames. It would have been simpler.

"I mean-"

"I know what you mean," Crowley cut in, not unkindly. She paused for a moment before speaking again, her voice soft in the self-imposed darkness between them. Well, darkness for Aziraphale. She was a coward who couldn't face looking Crowley in the eye, but she had no idea if Crowley was looking at her and she had no intention of finding out.

"Would you like to know a secret, angel?"

Aziraphale nodded.

"While I'm guessing your mother did everything she could to get you to lose weight short of tying you to the bed and refusing to feed you-"

Aziraphale bit her lip, her stomach flipping at the memory of her mother doing just that.

"-my mother couldn't fatten me up if God herself fed me from Her hand. She tried everything she could to get me to put on weight, and the more she tried, the more I came to hate food. I didn't, before her, and I didn't hate my body until she tried to change it." Crowley's voice took on a bitter note that made Aziraphale shift in discomfort, and she gathered her courage to flatten her hands on Crowley's waist, to slide them around to the small of her back and lace her fingers, a mirror of Crowley's hands around the back of her neck. "It was one of the reasons - one of the _many_ reasons - I ran away. Please believe me when I say that many people are unhappy with their bodies, the large, the small, everything in between. Even I'm unhappy with my body from time to time."

"It almost beggars belief," Aziraphale muttered, feeling almost nauseous from the similarities in Crowley's confession versus the troubles she's had with her own mother, if only in reverse.

"Then I pose you this: If I were to disrobe, would you like me any less, once you saw what I look like as God made me?" Crowley asked.

Aziraphale jerked back, surprised enough to open her eyes and look Crowley in the face, feeling a little affronted, a little hurt. "Of course not!" she exclaimed, a little insulted, that Crowley would think so little of her that her affections would fade just because of the way Crowley looked beneath her clothes.

Crowley smiled and her head dipped closer. "Then why would you think I was any different?"

Oh.

Even as Aziraphale was feeling hurt that Crowley might think so little of her, she had been doing the same to Crowley, laying her own insecurities on the other woman, and in turn, hurting her as Aziraphale had felt hurt. She bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay to feel insecure, angel," Crowley said against the top of her head. "Everyone does. Even the women in my drawings. Even the men."

Aziraphale slowly looked up. "Really?" she asked, her voice almost embarrassingly small.

"Promise," Crowley said, and drew an X over her heart with a finger. "I also promise I'll love the way you look, clothed or not."

"You can't promise that," Aziraphale said, shaking her head in rejection. Her face was feeling too hot again.

"I can _guarantee_ it," Crowley said earnestly, bringing one of her hands forward to use a crooked finger to tilt Aziraphale's head up. Her eyes caught Aziraphale's and didn't let go. "But I also promise that we can stop whenever you want for any reason. Okay?"

Aziraphale searched Crowley's expression for a long moment, even though she already knew her answer. She'd known her answer since the moment she'd asked Crowley to draw her, but it was still comforting to see the conviction on Crowley's face, her emotions naked for Aziraphale's perusal.

"Okay," Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale stepped backwards out of Crowley's arms and dropped her own to her sides, finally letting the silk caught at her elbows fall to the floor like a cloud around her feet. Unable to find the courage to watch Crowley look at her, Aziraphale squeezed her eyes shut and held herself as rigid as stone to keep herself falling to the instinctive need to cover her nakedness.

"You are… _gorgeous_ ," Crowley breathed, so worshipfully that Aziraphale _had_ to look.

Crowley was reaching toward her, and Aziraphale held her breath, though she couldn't have said if it was in fear or anticipation. But Crowley merely settled her hands at the bottom of her ribs where her waist tapered. Thumbs swept gently up towards her breasts and back down without making contact, and the teasing touch electrified her.

"I could look at you all day, angel," Crowley murmured.

"Really?" Aziraphale asked as Crowley's hands began to move up her ribs, past her breasts without touching them, until she was gently encouraging Aziraphale's arms up. Aziraphale raised them obediently, and Crowley draped them over her own shoulders until Aziraphale was embracing Crowley the way Crowley had been embracing her before Aziraphale's crisis of courage.

"Mhm," Crowley hummed, letting her hands fall to the dip at the small of Aziraphale's back. "I would go so far as to say you're as glorious as the heavens."

"Now you're teasing me," Aziraphale accused, heat flooding her face.

"Maybe a little," Crowley said with a grin and a shrug of one shoulder. "But that doesn't mean that I mean it any less."

Aziraphale opened her mouth but nothing came to her and she closed it again, eyes falling from Crowley's gaze. Only, they fell to Crowley's mouth, and suddenly all Aziraphale could think was that she wanted to kiss it again. She glanced up and found Crowley simply watching her, watching Aziraphale as if Crowley was waiting for something, and Aziraphale dropped her eyes again. Crowley licked her lips and, as her tongue started to retract, Aziraphale followed after it, hungry for the taste of Crowley's mouth again.

Her lips were still soft, still warm against Aziraphale's, and they opened for her, let her taste the sweetness of Crowley's tongue. Crowley met her hunger head-on, licked into Aziraphale's mouth like she felt the same hunger. The world shifted around them and Aziraphale held on tighter as she was tipped backwards, bore down to a soft surface. Her nakedness was covered with the comforting weight of Crowley's body, her legs falling open to cradle Crowley's slimness between them.

Gentle hands caressed her sides, swept softly up her belly, past the swell of her breasts, ignoring the way they ached for touch. Fingers traced the lines of her arms down to her wrists, circling them and pulling Aziraphale's arms free from behind Crowley's neck. As much as Aziraphale yearned to prolong the touch, she wanted to please Crowley, and she let her wrists be pushed above her head, pressed into the softness of pillows.

Crowley pulled away from her slowly, the coarseness of her clothes dragging on Aziraphale's sensitive skin, making her arch into the lean line of Crowley's body. Her desperation was gently hushed, and Crowley's hands lingered on her body, dragging down her belly and over her thighs, down her legs before finally pulling away from her ankles. Aziraphale's eyes slipped open, half-lidded, and in the dim light, she found Crowley on all fours over her, her eyes black as night, her hair a halo of fire.

Aziraphale reached up to touch a lock but Crowley stopped her, pushing her hand back to the pillow. "No, stay just like this," she said, her voice hushed. "This is how you deserve to be drawn."

"Is that a good thing?" Aziraphale replied, her voice just as quiet, as if speaking any louder would break the intimate atmosphere between them.

Crowley's grin was almost manic in the light as she dipped down to kiss Aziraphale again, but she kept it regretfully short. "Oh angel, you have no idea."

She pulled back slowly, adjusting Aziraphale's body to her liking as she got up until she finally stood, leaving Aziraphale with one foot on the couch and one barely touching the floor. It left her feeling embarrassingly exposed and Aziraphale's instinctive reaction was to pull her legs together, but Crowley's hands were resting on her knees, a gentle suggestion.

"Don't move," Crowley said again, drawing back, letting her fingers linger. "Don't open your eyes all the way, but keep them on me."

"Okay," Aziraphale whispered, wary of moving out of the position Crowley had gone to the effort of placing her in. She breathed in deeply, feeling the weight of the necklace as her lungs expanded, reminding her how she'd even come to be in this situation.

Crowley didn't look away from her as she backed up to the chair she'd pulled in front of the fainting couch. She didn't look away until after she'd sat down, when she'd reached for her portfolio and her charcoal. She set the stick to paper and glanced up at Aziraphale. "Now, just try to stay as still as you can," she said. And then she began to draw.

Aziraphale's heart felt like it was trying to beat out of her ribcage - she had been right, being the focus of Crowley's artistic gaze was even more intense, more intimate, than it usually was. She felt so exposed, so _vulnerable_ , Crowley's eyes burning her every time they flickered up from her work. She could almost feel them like the gentle touch of Crowley's hands, sweeping over her face, her breasts, the place where she ached between her parted thighs. With every glance, the ache got stronger, until it became a dull throb, an echo of her heartbeat, pounding harder and harder until it beat like a drum, drowning out her heart.

As she lay there, for the first time in her life, Aziraphale wondered what it would be like to be taken. For the first time in her life, Aziraphale _ached_ to be taken. For Crowley to take her.

It was terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Princess Bride voice* “Since the invention of Titanic (movie), there have been three scenes that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one is the most famous. The End.”
> 
> (this is not actually the last chapter)


	13. You Make My Clothes Feel Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm glad to see you've finally fallen for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mery Crisis](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Z-Nu351j58).

**1912 April 14, Sunday - Day 5 (Part Seven)**

Aziraphale stopped breathing when Crowley finally pulled her charcoal from her drawing and tilted her head first one way and then the other. She put her charcoal down once more, something swift in the corner, and then finally set it all down.

"All done," Crowley said, looking up at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale shot to her feet, jittery with nervous energy. Crowley blinked up at her in surprise, and Aziraphale could only meet her eyes for a tense moment before she bent to pick up her dressing gown, so quickly that it was almost a collapse. She couldn't help but hold it to her chest to cover her breasts and the space between her legs, even though she'd spent the last… well, she didn't know how long, but it had felt like hours, exposed to Crowley's gaze.

"I'm… I need to get dressed," she stammered and fled. She'd done the same before they'd started, but she felt even more embarrassed than she had then, hot not just in her face but down her breasts and her belly and even her thighs felt nearly itchy with shame. She shouldn't be ashamed, she knew she shouldn't, not after Crowley had made it so clear to her that she was appreciated, but she couldn't help it, couldn't help how Crowley's gaze, her focus, made her feel. 

It was a relief to hide behind her closed door, to put clothes back on. Only, she found herself pausing when she reached for the familiar tweed of her skirts and waistcoats and overcoats. The stiff fabric had always helped her hold herself up, hold herself together, against the looks and gossip of her society, of her mother, of her fiancé. But Crowley didn't make her feel that way. Even in the face of her embarrassment, even though Crowley's intensity made Aziraphale want to cover up from head to toe, she didn't feel the need to pack herself away behind her woolen armour. Instead, her fingers lingered over pale blue and beige chiffon - the only dress she'd ever purchased for herself.

Her mother had informed her on her way out the door one day that she'd finally managed to arrange a marriage for Aziraphale, with a man from the States. For a brief few shining hours, Aziraphale had _hoped_ : that her mother had made a good match, that she'd found Aziraphale a _good_ husband, that Aziraphale would finally know what freedom felt like. She'd felt… buoyant, walking through the streets, and then a cloud of pale blue fabric in a window caught her eye, the dress behind the glass the very embodiment of her cheer. She didn't even fuss about the fitting, didn't care about the days it would take to get delivered, but when she'd gotten home, Gabriel had been waiting to meet her, and every last bit of hope Aziraphale had ever had crumpled into dust and blew away.

When the shopkeeper's assistant had arrived with the box several days later, Aziraphale hadn't even bothered to open it. There hadn't been a point, not when her new fiancé was just a harsher version of her mother. She'd tucked the box in her armoire, under the hems of her skirts, back in a corner where she'd never have to see it or think about it again. But one of the maids must have found it when packing up her things because it was here, in her armoire, on the way to America with her. And as Aziraphale stared at it, she realized she was feeling that same hope again, that same buoyancy, and it was all because of Crowley, because of Crowley's honest and unconditional affection. She stared at it and realized she wanted to look as good as she felt in that moment, not just for Crowley, but for herself.

Heart racing in anticipation, or possibly trepidation, Aziraphale pulled the gown from its hanger. For a moment, she considered finding a corset, but the thought of being laced up into more armour was unbearable. Instead, she brazenly pulled the chiffon over her bare breasts, shivering at the feel of silk over her sensitive skin and loving how absolutely… _exquisite_ it made her feel. The sensation of it shifting over her legs as she stepped into her shoes was so soft that it reminded her of the way Crowley touched her, and left her skin electrified all over.

Aziraphale got halfway to her vanity before remembering what Crowley had said about liking her hair down. It had been so long since she'd worn it down in public that the weight of it on her shoulders was unfamiliar as she turned back towards her bedroom door and stepped out again.

Crowley was sprawled in the chair she'd been drawing in, holding her open portfolio over her head. She turned at the sound of Aziraphale's steps and sat there for a moment, staring at Aziraphale. Then her arm lowered and she sort of… uncoiled from the chair and took a step towards Aziraphale before she sat down on the chair's arm. Her gaze traveled over Aziraphale's face to her hair, down to her dress and back up, and then her lips curled in a soft smile.

"You really know how to pretty up, angel," she said, her voice as warm as her expression.

The compliment caught Aziraphale off guard, especially because, for the first time in her life, she had dressed for herself, for her comfort, rather than for the public, as she'd always done, since she was old enough to be made to do it herself. She hadn't even done anything with her hair, and had generally… not tried to look presentable. But Crowley was looking at her as if she was wearing her most expensive gown and makeup, had spent hours with a hairdresser.

"Really?" she asked, unable to keep from fidgeting.

Crowley held out her free hand, her portfolio balanced on her leg, and Aziraphale tentatively took it. The smile on Crowley's face widened as she tugged Aziraphale forward and between her legs, which only made Aziraphale's face heat up, to be placed in such a provocative position. Crowley tilted her chin up and looked at Aziraphale expectantly, and after a moment, Aziraphale realized what she was silently asking for. Aziraphale took a deep breath, and leaned down, and pressed her mouth to Crowley's.

There was no actual difference, between the way Crowley's lips had felt the last time Aziraphale kissed her and now, but the fact that she'd initiated it, even if it was per Crowley's request, made her _feel_ different. It was somewhat of a relief to feel a hand at her waist, pulling her closer to Crowley's body, to settle her arms around Crowley's shoulders in a returned embrace. It brought back a comforting almost-normality, a return to the almost-familiar.

"Mmm," Crowley hummed. "You look ravishing, and I would love to ravish you."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, and it was all she could find the words to say. Unfortunately, her mouth continued to open and close as if waiting for more words to cross her tongue, but there were none forthcoming. Her face felt like the sun on a summer day, and she was at a complete loss on how to address Crowley's impropriety.

Crowley grinned. "Would you like to see your drawing?" she asked, thankfully giving Aziraphale an out, which she gratefully took.

"Please," she said.

The portfolio was handed to her and the hand at Aziraphale's waist slid away, down the curve of her hip, fingers dangerously close to her rear. Ignoring both the hand and the heat in her face, Aziraphale flipped open the leather, grimacing in anticipation. She needn't have, though. The drawing just inside was unlike any portrait her mother had ever made her sit through, to the point that the woman she was looking at was almost unrecognizable from her reflection, save her hair and eyes, and the heavy pendant nestled in the dip above and between her breasts.

The wanton creature staring up at her from the page was laid out like a gift, but her lidded eyes were striking as they stared down the viewer. _'I'm laid out for the taking,'_ those eyes said. _'But not for you.'_

"Is this… really what I look like?" she asked, tracing over the lines of her body on the paper, careful not to smudge the charcoal. She lingered, flushing, over the dark space between her thighs, where she'd thought her sex had been exposed. And perhaps it had been, but Crowley had shadowed it in nonetheless, hiding Aziraphale's most secret place from the viewer.

"It is to me." Crowley's voice was soft, and when Aziraphale glanced up, she found Crowley's eyes dark and hooded, her gaze warm upon Aziraphale's face.

Feeling warm all over, Aziraphale dropped her gaze, but it got no further than Crowley's mouth. "Thank you," Aziraphale murmured. "For… for everything."

Crowley's smile softened and widened, and then her hands were back at Aziraphale's waist, pulling her closer again. Aziraphale closed the portfolio and held it out of the way, and Crowley pulled her flush against her own body. With Crowley sitting on the chair's arm, it left them at level height, and Aziraphale couldn't help the rising heat in her face at feeling Crowley's breasts pressed to her own.

"When I say it has been my pleasure, angel," Crowley said, "then know I have never said anything truer."

She reached up and combed her fingers through Aziraphale's curls, scraping her nails over Aziraphale's scalp. The sensations sent shivers down Aziraphale's spine and her eyes fluttered, and in the moment her eyes closed, Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to Aziraphale's mouth. She was already pulling back when Aziraphale opened her eyes again, and Aziraphale couldn't have said who smiled first.

It was a strange moment, for Aziraphale at least. But only in that she'd never had another like it. There was no expectation to Crowley's expression, and Aziraphale felt none herself. There was only calm being, only them.

Crowley lifted a curl of Aziraphale hair to her lips and kissed it. "Why don't you go put that eyesore away and then see what other trouble we can get up to," she said, that familiar wicked twinkle back in her eye.

Aziraphale could only guess at what Crowley had in mind, but she couldn't help but remember Crowley's hands on her naked skin, the way Crowley kissed her, the way she bore her down to the couch, the way she placed herself between Aziraphale's thighs. Even before Crowley grinned, Aziraphale could feel the way her thoughts were sending heat to her cheeks and she whirled away from Crowley, only to stop before stepping away when she was struck with a thought.

Crowley had adorned her affectionately with the mark of another man's possession, and Aziraphale could feel in her heart a cycle that needed to be completed. With a hand that trembled, she lifted her hair away from the back of her neck to reveal the necklace's clasp. She only had to wait a moment before she felt Crowley's fingers releasing the connection. Aziraphale caught the pendant with her free hand before it could slide into her dress, but before she could step away, Crowley's hands cupped her shoulders, holding her in place. Warm breath tickled the back of her neck and made her shudder, but it was the barely-there brush of lips against her skin that made her whimper, that made her legs tremble.

There was another kiss to the back of her neck, just a little over, and then another a little over from that. Again and again Crowley kissed Aziraphale's skin, until Aziraphale's legs were so weak that she thought she would fall to the ground. Until she was throbbing between her thighs, aching for Crowley's touch. It was the gentle scrape of teeth over her pulse that finally made her knees buckle, and she half-collapsed into Crowley's lap, her legs unable to keep her weight.

"Mmm," Crowley hummed, the vibrations sending every nerve in Aziraphale's body to attention, "I'm glad to see you've finally fallen for me."

Aziraphale blinked hazily, feeling out of sorts, and then Crowley's words finally registered. "Crowley…"

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's neck again with a little inquisitive hum, her hands sliding down Aziraphale's arms.

"My dear, that was just _terrible_."

The fingers creeping down towards Aziraphale's wrists stopped, and then Crowley huffed out a rare-sounding laugh against Aziraphale's neck. "Perhaps. Terrible but true?" she asked, wrapping her arms around Aziraphale's waist and kissing her cheek.

The mere question had the whole of Aziraphale's body feeling hot. It was not something she could deny, but nor did she have the courage to admit the truth. Not yet. "Perhaps," she replied, stealing Crowley's words and feeling a bit cheeky for doing so.

"Cheeky," Crowley said, sounding amused.

She gently pushed Aziraphale from her lap and swatted her behind, and Aziraphale yelped at the unexpected touch and the sting of it. She whirled around, her free hand hovering protectively over the lingering sensation on her rear as she stared at Crowley wide-eyed. Crowley just grinned at her.

"Go put that away, angel," she said, nodding at the necklace Aziraphale was still pressing to her chest. "And then we can _play_."

Feeling flushed, Aziraphale nodded and skittered around her, giving Crowley's hands a wide berth as she walked back to the safe. Crowley's laugh followed Aziraphale into the other room, and then Crowley herself, draping herself over Aziraphale's shoulders as Aziraphale carefully set the gem back on its velvet bed. Before Aziraphale could close the case, Crowley reached in and stroked the diamond with the tip of her finger.

"As ugly as that thing is, it'd be worth a pretty penny even on the resell," she said. "If you ever decide to leave that disgrace of a fiancé, take this with you and I'll help you sell it before he knows it's gone. A particularly unscrupulous buyer might even pay more if they knew it was stolen. Even if you only got a fraction of its worth though, it'd be more than enough for you to start a new life. A life you actually want."

It warmed Aziraphale's heart to hear that Crowley thought, in no uncertain terms, that they would still know each other in the distant future. It warmed her even further to know that, no matter what choice she made, Crowley would be there for her, to help her. That Crowley wanted her to live her own life. It was more than anyone else had ever wanted for her, and Aziraphale found herself craving that affection.

"I bet he doesn't even know you know the combination of his safe, does he?" Crowley asked, voice almost smug.

"I'm not sure. Either he doesn't know or he doesn't care," Aziraphale shrugged, even though the admission made the familiar pang in her heart thrum. Even after all these years, she still wasn't truly used to all the ways she was ignored, not thought about, unnoticed.

"Well, that's his mistake then, isn't it?"

"Hm?" Aziraphale hummed, caught by surprise by the unexpected viciousness in Crowley's voice.

"Being underestimated will always hurt, angel," Crowley said, "but you can always use it to your advantage. How do you think I got away from my mother and still have so much money?"

"You… you _stole_ it?" Aziraphale asked, feeling unexpectedly flabbergasted. Not that she should be. This wasn't the first time Crowley had admitted to something less than proper.

"'Stole' is a strong word, angel," Crowley said casually. "I prefer to think of it as reclaiming what was already mine. Not unlike that necklace. He gave it to you, didn't he?"

Aziraphale blinked down at the necklace. She hadn't really considered it a gift as much as a mark of his ownership, but it had been a gift, hadn't it? _"But perhaps tonight you would accept this gift as a reminder of my feelings for you."_ he'd said.

"He did…" Aziraphale said, her voice almost a whisper of comprehension.

"See?" Crowley said, and this time her voice was undeniably smug. "If it eases your conscience, that necklace _is_ yours, whether he meant it or not. He _gave_ it to you. As far as I, and the universal laws of gift giving, are concerned, that necklace is yours to do with what you wish. Keep it, sell it, toss it into the ocean. Doesn't matter. That necklace is yours, angel."

Aziraphale's perspective shifted and it felt like the world moved. Crowley was right. She'd never thought of it that way, but Crowley was absolutely right. Whether Aziraphale ran away in a month, a year, a decade, that necklace was a gift to her, and it was hers to do with as she wished. An unexpected sensation of freedom came with the realization, as if a hidden door had opened in her cage, one neither her mother nor her fiancé could see.

Overcome with affection and gratitude, Aziraphale turned her head and kissed Crowley's cheek. "Thank you, my dear," she said warmly, and then quickly turned her face forward again, embarrassed by her boldness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Crowley turned to face her in turn, and then she kissed Aziraphale's cheek back. "You're welcome, my angel," she said, her voice more heated than warm, and it seemed to transfer that same heat right into Aziraphale's cheeks.

Crowley laughed softly against her cheek, and then slowly pulled away, her hands dragging up Aziraphale's arms and almost against her breasts before pulling off her shoulders. Aziraphale snapped the box closed, slid it back into its slot in the case, and closed the door, spinning the spoked wheel. When she turned around, Crowley was pulling her topcoat back on, her portfolio balanced on the back of the chair.

"So, what would you like to do now?" Crowley asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile. "What-"

_knock knock knock_

"Miss Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale went cold with shock and fright at the sound of Sandalphon's nasally voice through the door, and then the door handle moved and Aziraphale's heart leapt into her throat.

"C'mon!" Crowley whispered, grabbing Aziraphale's hand and pulling her urgently back towards her room.

"Your art!" Aziraphale tried to grab the portfolio as she was dragged past the chair but she only managed to knock it into the seat. "Crowley-!"

"There's no time!" Crowley hissed back.

"Miss Aziraphale?" Sandalphon called again, but this time his voice wasn't being filtered by the door and Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat.

Together, her and Crowley darted into her room and Crowley closed the door as quietly as she could.

"We'll come back for it," she whispered. "We just have to get out first, okay?"

Crowley pulled her towards the door to the hallway without waiting for an answer, and Aziraphale had no choice but to follow her, hoping that they would be able to circle around for the portfolio before Sandalphon, or worse, Michael or Gabriel, discovered it. It and the naked drawing of her inside, a private moment meant only for Crowley's eyes and her own.

The hallway was sparsely populated, most of the nearby suites's occupants still at tea and brandy. It left little-to-no cover for the two of them, and Aziraphale nervously squeezed Crowley's hand, her heart pounding as they tried to walk nonchalantly towards the main staircase. The sound of a door opening behind them made her turn, and the sight of Sandalphon stepping out of her door made her heart stumble.

There was a small pause as she stared at him and he stared at her, and then adrenaline flashed through her and she blurted out "Run!"

Crowley's laugh was bright and alive as she took off alongside Aziraphale, their hands still tightly clasped, and Aziraphale was surprised to find a laugh of her own bubbling out of her throat. Aziraphale nearly slipped when they rounded a corner on the marble floor too fast, but Crowley tugged her upright and Aziraphale took the opportunity to glance behind her. She was immediately reassured at the distance between them and a huffing Sandalphon, whose decades of hedonistic life had done his athleticism (or lack thereof) no favours, but that was no reason to slow down.

The lift just in front of them was emptying of people, and Aziraphale and Crowley darted into it together, hurriedly closing the grates before the attendant could. "Down, hurry!" Aziraphale gasped, the breath in her chest a little tight, and the operator obediently began to lower the lift.

And not a moment too soon as Sandalphon slammed into the grate and slapped at it angrily with his hands. His glare as they sunk was so ferocious that it should have filled Aziraphale with the familiar terror of impending retribution, but Crowley made her fearless. Fearless and cheeky, enough to finally do what she'd always wanted to do: gave Gabriel's lackey the two-fingered salute.

Crowley snorted against Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale waved an equally cheeky "Bye!"

The look on Sandalphon's face as the lift finally put them below floor level sent Aziraphale and Crowley into a fit of laughter. Every time Aziraphale thought she'd caught her breath, she broke down again, and it seemed to be infections. They nearly tripped over each other when they finally stumbled out of the lift, and Aziraphale caught the operator sneering at them, lifting his nose at them in the way only the elite could do. It normally would have set Aziraphale's heart aflutter in the worst way, sure that her antics would get back to her mother, but she just… couldn't find it in herself to care. Not with Crowley breathless and smiling and warm at her side.

"I haven't had that much fun… ever," Aziraphale gasped out, unable to catch her breath in the best way. She couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop laughing, and she'd never felt so free and happy in her life.

"You know, me either," Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale through a door into the hallway beyond. "You certainly know how to show a lady a good time, angel," she said with a grin, leaning up against the wall and pulling Aziraphale close.

"I would say the same of you," Aziraphale said, enjoying the way she fit against Crowley's body, the way Crowley wrapped her arms around Aziraphale's waist and laced her fingers together at the base of Aziraphale's spine.

"Good to know," Crowley murmured, leaning down to kiss her when she suddenly stopped. "What the fuck."

Aziraphale turned around and time froze for a brief moment when she made eye contact with Sandalphon beyond the glass.

"Oh," Aziraphale said. And then, for the first time in her life: "Fuck."

Crowley burst out in delighted laughter and took off, pulling Aziraphale with her. A door slammed open behind them and Aziraphale didn't dare turn around to look, and a strange sensation rolled up her spine - the awareness of something coming after her, like a monster in the dark.

"Crowley!" she squeaked.

"Hurry, angel! This way!" she said, turning a corner, only it immediately turned into a dead end.

Aziraphale turned to look at her, a rising panic making it hard to speak, but Crowley was already reaching for a door Aziraphale hadn't noticed, and to her relief, it opened.

"C'mon!" Crowley shouted, pulling Aziraphale into the room, oh gods, the _loud_ room, in front of her.

She darted in after Aziraphale and slammed the door closed, locking it just before the handle jiggled. But if Sandalphon said anything from the other side, Aziraphale couldn't hear it over the screaming in the room. She pressed her hands over her ears and shouted at Crowley "Where now?"

Crowley was covering her ears too, but when she shouted back at Aziraphale, Aziraphale couldn't even hear her, and she laughed. There was a ladder leading down and Crowley looked down the shaft and jerked her head at it before she started down, and Aziraphale followed after. She knew she was just in a ship, but with the adrenaline of the chase, and the unknown at the bottom of the ladder, Aziraphale felt like a heroine in one of her books, a princess bravely crawling into a dragon's lair.

The room they finally dropped into was certainly as hot as a dragon's lair, and the man that confronted them was certainly as grimy as one might expect from working with coal and engines. "What are you two doing down here? It's danger- Hey!"

Aziraphale turned and ran and she could hear Crowley following her, shouting praise to the workers as they flew past. With Aziraphale's skirts fluttering around her legs and the lightness in her heart, and with Crowley close behind, she finally felt like she was really flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all rip to my productivity this year

**Author's Note:**

> Update next Sometime, and if you like what I've got, toss a [reblog](https://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/190591686323) to your Writer~ ;3


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